History is Written by the Victors
by Noxburry
Summary: And that was the end of it. Maleficent, Aurora, and their two kingdoms got their "happily ever after". And yet, that's not the version everyone remembers. A wise man once said, "History is written by the victors," and while you and I know Maleficent won, we also know that the tale was not written in her favor. Something happened after ever after that changed the story.
1. A Second Chance

History is Written by the Victors

And that was the end of it. Maleficent, Aurora, and their two kingdoms got their "happily ever after". And yet, that's not the version everyone remembers. A wise man once said, "History is written by the victors," and while you and I know Maleficent won, we also know that the tale was not written in her favor. Something happened after ever after that changed the story.

 _A Second Chance_

No one attended his funeral. Stefan was the King in title, but his subjects had less faith in the man then they did in the quality of their water. His decline began after the christening of his daughter, the now Queen Aurora, and the curse placed on her by the moral but maligned fairy Maleficent. The first step was sending his daughter away. He knew the fairy's hated him for personal crimes committed long ago, so he felt that the only way to protect his daughter from any further harm would be to grant her care to three well meaning but completely incompetent fairies.

The second step was immediately burning all the spinning wheels in the land and prohibiting their use. This left the kingdom's seamstresses at a loss, unable to create new fabrics. Most had to purchase expensive imports, and some rebellious women kept hidden wheels in their cellars. Fashioned changed to require less fabric with shorter skirts and fewer layers, and second-hand clothing use boomed.

The third step was sending out daily troops to search for the evil fairy. Few men returned from these expeditions, and always with empty hands. To cover his losses, Stefan instated a draft, with all boys over age 17 called for service. As a result, the population plummeted. With the men all but gone, women began to gain power within their communities, taking jobs as shopkeepers, metal smiths, even doctors to some degree.

About 12 years into the Dark Times, King Stefan called on all of the remaining ironworkers to come to the castle. He granted them exception from the draft, even discharging those already serving, causing many young men to take on the profession. Foolishly viewing smithing as escape from the heavily risky military service, the boys received a shock upon entering the castle and having the doors bolted behind them. Stefan ran the men like animals, working them day and night in dark, sweltering sweatshops, beating glowing ore until they collapsed.

Stefan remained essentially oblivious to the unrest within his kingdom. With his mind poisoned by fear and hate, his sanity to slowly begin to slip away, like melting ice; going, going, gone.

His servants often caught him speaking to Maleficent's wings, the ones he brutally cut off to earn his crown. He believed they contained her spirit, and by speaking to them he actually spoke to her. He kept them in a glass coffin, wrapped in crisscrossing chains, a gruesome trophy of a half-done deed. In retrospect, perhaps his biggest regret in life was not killing the horned she-demon when he had the chance. Then, his heart swollen with the memory of young love was unable to end the creature. He remembered the iridescence of her eyes, like jewels glittering on her porcelain skin. He remembered her sweet, full lips, blood red and hot against his own. He could recall, even as he stared at them old and dusty in their glass prison, the softness of her beautiful wings. He knew of their strength and speed, more powerful than an ox and swifter than a stallion.

Now, he knew better. He knew that a demon could appear beautiful, just as the devil himself was once beautiful, for he once lay in heaven before God cast him out. And he knew to distrust what he saw, for when your heart is on fire smoke gets in your eyes.

He knew now, after she cursed his daughter with a fate worse then death, a frozen sleep so her kingdom would forever live in a desperate hope for her awakening, that he hated her. He hated her because she allowed the child to live her youth in happiness, until she just reached the peak of her life, then cruelly took it away from her. He hated her for the twisted "solution" she presented; he knew what she meant when she said "true love's kiss", and he knew for that, the witch must die.

Cue madness and paranoia. Cue the 16-year decent of a once promising man into darkness. As he fell from his ivory tower, so too did his subjects lose faith in their once lionized monarchy. By the end, their allegiance was purely formal. Though they wouldn't say it aloud, many rejoiced with the change in power following his death.

No one came to his funeral, not even his daughter. The one person in attendance was the customary priest, who read his last rights, and, of course, the grave digger. Sealed in a simple oak box with a plain marble headstone, his grave was indistinguishable from any other in the graveyard, save the inscription, which read:

"Let all who pass here read and know

From orphan to King this man did grow

But the lying, greedy ways of men

Kept him from what he could have been"

Late on the night of King Stefan's burial, a set of cloaked beings arrived at his grave with shovels. They quickly unearthed his shallow plot and lifted his coffin on planks. Clumsily, they replaced the dirt in a poor attempt at disguising their deed, and then ran off into the night with the King's body hoisted above them like the spoils of a hunting trip.

The next morning, as the church groundskeeper made his rounds of the land, he noticed heavy footprints in the fresh soil and a smaller mound than usual for a new grave. Though it seemed curious, the groundskeeper thought little of it. Who would care about a fallen King anyway?

Miles from Aurora's kingdom, away from the magical Moors and mires, deep, deep into the surrounding wood began another kingdom, singly ruled by a beautiful yet vain Queen. Everyday, she would travel to the north tower and look into a vast, dish-like mirror hung upon her castle wall, asking it who was the fairest in the land. For years the mirror responded with one name; her own. Recently, the mirror began to recite a new name, the name of the girl she inherited from her late husband's previous marriage. Desperate to regain her status, yet unsure of how to do so, she called upon a relative, King Stefan, the man who married her cousin, the late Queen Leila. The two met at her late uncle-in-law, King Henry's funeral, and had been in contact ever since. Distraught after hearing of Stefan's untimely end, she determined that he could not die by this cruel twist of fate and instead she would take matters into her own hands.

The cloaked men arrived by late afternoon. The Queen met them in the yard and instructed them to bring the body down to the room deep in the castle's cellar. In the cold, stone-lined room she had already begun to concoct the brew that would return the color to Stefan's cheeks.

The men lifted the body onto a wooden table, posing him in a position of quiet repose. As they gathered the empty coffin and planks, the dark Queen pointed a slender finger at one of the men.

"Not you. You stay."

She had the man sit on the floor and gave him a metal cup of clear liquid to drink from. Thankful for her generosity, he quickly threw it back, parched from the long journey. A minute passed and his eyes began to droop. Eventually his fingers lost sensation and he dropped the cup. Not two minutes later, the bearded man slumped over himself, asleep. The Queen managed to drag his body onto an adjacent table, with much huffing and puffing. She plucked a greasy hair from his newly unconscious head, and then turned to pluck one from the former King's greying scalp. Quickly, she threw the two strands into a bubbling cauldron at the end of the room, producing a curling, yellow smoke. Giddy, she grabbed a bottle from her shelf, throwing in three mermaid's scales, and then from a jar she poured glittering powdered unicorn's horn. She hovered over the roiling stew, mumbling a slew of words in a forgotten tongue. The mixture calmed, slowly fading into a muted gray. She smiled devilishly, staring into the pot, as she realized the potion was working.

"And finally," she whispered, looking up at the two bodies ahead of her, the fire below her casting eerie shadows on her sculpted face, "a sacrifice."

Opening the door, she called up the stairs to Aden, the young boy who tended the castle fireplaces. In less than a minute, a small, dirty looking boy of eight bounded down the stone stairs, his hands stained black from soot and charcoal.

"Aden, I need help with my fireplace," she purred, gesturing for him to come inside. Unsuspecting and innocent, the boy wandered in, only noticing the purple, bloodstained body after hearing the lock click behind him.

In a sudden burst of savagery, she grabbed the boy by his sandy blond hair and dragged him with her to the seemingly innocuous cauldron at the end of the room. Amazed by her own cruelty, she was aware of her own action yet had no no control over them, and no intention of stopping. It was as if the fumes from the cauldron produced a sort of intoxication, where she lost control of her own functions. As she drew nearer, she produced a dagger from her hip. Holding the squirming, tearful boy up tall, she took it and sliced open his throat, allowing the first drops of his dying blood to spray into the pot. Immediately, the boil began again, and the color changed from dull dishwater blue to almost blinding silver. Gritting her teeth, she heaved her former fire boy away, no longer gurgling from choking on his own blood, and stepped over his limp, scrawny legs to get to her ladle faster.

Dipping it into the mixture, all the color became concentrated in the one dose, shining brighter than the crown on her head. Carefully, she carried the ladle to the deceased King Stefan, the key for her future. Lifting his head with one hand, she tilted half the liquid into his slack jaw, adjusting so she made sure it all fell down his throat.

Next, she moved to the still breathing man beside him. She remembered hiring him for the job. He was a huntsman and, like the others that retrieved Stefan's body, known for his stealth. She lifted his head and poured the rest of the silver liquid down his throat.

Stepping back, she watched as their bodies began to glow from the inside, like a candle flame hidden by walls of wax. The glow began to ball itself in King Stefan's throat, and from his still cracked mouth a golden wisp emerged, warm and glimmering as it slowly rolled through the air towards the huntsman's body. Twisting gently, like a leaf on a breeze, it slipped through his parted lips and mingled with his still swimming glow.

The Huntsman shot upright and heaved a strangled breath, sound as if he'd just emerged from the depths, having nearly drown. He turned to face the woman standing beside him, smiling like a crook that got away with it.

"Who are you?" he whispered, hoarse from his sleep.

"I am the one who will change your story."


	2. Trouble in Paradise

_Trouble in Paradise_

Aurora sat on the stool of her vanity, face in her hands as she sobbed over silver combs and glass bottles. A royal blue gown, still warm, lay messily strewn across her mountainous bed; she had her maiden's practically tear it off of her before they frantically pulled strings to get to the corset underneath. She had them unlace the heavy white contraption just enough for her to breath before sending them away so she could cry in private. Aurora suffocated in this clown's costume she was forced to wear; gaudy, compressing, restrictive. She longed for the soft woolen dresses the fairies made her, but alas, those days were long gone.

She looked up from beneath her blonde locks, fallen from the tight updo constructed hours ago, to her large, polished silver mirror. Though her eyes were rimmed red and her flushed cheeks were slick with tears, she was still beautiful. This only made her more upset. _"The gift of beauty"_ seemed more like a curse sometimes.

She heard a soft _tap-tap-tapping_ at her window. Through her tears she saw a familiar black bird, a raven, hopping about the brick ledge.

"Oh, pretty bird," Aurora whispered, smiling sadly. She crossed the floor and opened the window for him, standing back as he hopped inside and changed into a man in a puff of black smoke.

"Aurora, what's wrong? I saw you crying, has something happened?" He asked, crouching to be at eye level with the young queen. From his left hand he discreetly dropped a single red rose, quickly brushing it under her bed with his foot. Aurora looked up at him, her eyes beginning to water again. His questions had only prompted fresh tears.

"Oh no no no, shh" he soothed, straightening as he drew her into an embrace. Her thin arms wrapped around him, clutching the folds of his coat as she held him tighter. He returned the gesture, cautiously, for to him she was half naked in her underthings. When he felt her shoulders shake and his chest grow wet with her tears, he clutched her harder, knowing that she just desired to be held. A few minutes and several murmured condolences later, she drew her head back up to look at her lifelong friend and caretaker.

"Oh Diaval, things have not gone as planned since I became queen." She uttered between hiccups.

"How so?"

"The court, they don't trust me. They think I'm too young and naive to handle running a kingdom. And sure, I don't know the first thing about proclamations and decrees, handling taxes or maintaining order. I don't even know what feudalism is! They say that a woman doesn't have the heart nor military sense to send troops to battle—"

"How dare they!" he said, recalling how his mistress fearlessly lead the Moor creatures into battle multiple times, with she herself fronting the defense.

"And Diaval, the more I think about it, the more I think they're right!" They both paused.

"What?" he asked finally, though he'd heard her perfectly.

"I'm, I'm not cut out for this, Diaval. I don't know the first thing about being Queen , and here I am, mucking everything up and embarrassing myself in front of everyone!"

"You're not thinking about quitting, are you?" He asked, jokingly, trying to bring out a sense of fight in her. To his surprise, she just looked down.

"The court wants me to marry Phillip. They believe that he, as a man of royal blood and upbringing, will be better than I to care for the kingdom."

Diaval peered at her bowed head, confused. He wholeheartedly believed that she was capable of ruling the kingdom herself; however, he agreed that having Prince Phillip by her side would make it easier. The court was right; he held far more experience in royal life and governing than she. He could at least take some of the stress off her shoulders. And besides, didn't she like Phillip? Isn't this what she wanted, to marry her prince and live happily ever after?

"Do you… not want to marry the prince?" he asked, measuredly. The young girl looked up from the ground and into his dark, raven's eyes.

"I barely know him," she whispered. Diaval was slightly taken aback. Aurora took it as confusion. She left his embrace and began pacing the room, listing the faults of their relationship.

"I mean, I don't know his birthday, or his horse's name. I don't know his favorite color, or how he takes his tea. Has he ever wielded a sword, or courted another woman? I don't even know the name of his kingdom!"

"I assume it's named after his father," muttered Diaval.

"Whom I have never met, nor any of his family. And he knows just as little about me!"

"Perhaps you two should spend some time together then," he suggested, being perfectly logical.

"We can't," she moaned loudly throwing her arms down in exasperation. Obviously she'd been annoyed with this for a while. Diaval hopped slightly, like a startled bird, at her sudden vexation. "He is always at home helping his father care for their kingdom. I rarely see him, and even then it's just to discuss politics."

"Perhaps you two could write letters?" he suggested, "It could be, ah, romantic?"

Aurora sat back down on her vanity's stool and groaned. Diaval had to admit, he really was grasping at straws with that idea; teenagers didn't want to send letters like two old duffers they wanted real physical contact. The young Queen's shoulders slumped forward as she rested her elbows on her knees, before placing her head in her hands. Diaval watched her from his spot by the window. Even in such a sad state, she was still a creature more lovely than any he had seen.

"Aurora," He started, edging toward her, "What I'm going to say might come as a shock to you, but...you don't have to marry Prince Phillip if you don't want to."

She looked up from her lap again, confused.

"But, but as a Queen, I have to do what is in the best interests of others," she said, regurgitating the axiom her councilors have beaten into her head since day one.

"And as a Queen, you get to make your own damned decisions," he finished, kneeling in front of her so their eyes could meet on the same plane. Smiling, he concluded, "Maleficent made you Queen because she believed in you. Remember who you are Aurora; as a woman of royal blood, the capacity to make difficult decisions runs through your veins. But also, you were raised in the Moors, and thus carry a virtuous head on your shoulders. A winning duo, if I ever saw one. You will figure this out, and if you need help, you always know who to ask."

"Thank you Diaval," she said, smiling again. She cleared her throat and wiped her eyes, done with crying, before starting over. "So, what did you come to see me for?"

"Ahh, mmm," it was his turn to clear his throat now, breaking their eye contact as he searched for an answer. His mind wandered to the rose under her bed, one that he couldn't mention now. "My bird-like intuition told me that you were troubled."

Aurora smiled at his jest, playing along, "Oh, did it?"

"Yes," he stammered, standing up and backing toward the window, "Just as it's telling me now that all has been settled and my services are no longer needed."

The half-clothed girl stood up from her stool, smiling impishly as she slowly followed him, hands behind her back and long curls swinging with her every footstep. Diaval flushed slightly and stumbled over a snag in her rug. She giggled, peering at him from under her long, black eyelashes, and he only became redder. With a complexion as pale as his, the color produced was quite incredible.

He cleared his throat, "Until next time," he rasped, and in a shock of black smoke, he shrank down into his feathered form and took off into the crystal blue horizon. Aurora rushed to her window, her golden hair lifted from her face in the breeze it provided, and watched her childhood friend fly away.

"Good-bye, pretty bird!" she giggled out with newfound confidence and happiness before whispering, "Come back soon."


	3. Unrest

Unrest

High above the glistening pools of the Moors, lying face down on a moss covered stone column rested the newly winged fairy, Maleficent. Her wings, folded into a large black heart atop her back, were able to shield most of her body from the sun; however, she did not choose this unusual roost for sunning. She lay up there, high above the forest, so she might once again feel the soft breeze through her feathers. If she had to describe the sensation to one without wings, she supposed it could be similar to wind running it's cool fingers through ones hair, only better. The pleasure she felt top this rock was one she had not felt in over 16 years. She drank in the sensation like a sinner at communion.

From below, the trills of water sprites forever tracing patterns on the pools rang out above the low buzz of honeybees furiously pollinating flowers. Water softly trickled from slippery rocks and splashed with the quick surfacing of rainbow colored fish, noises that added definition to the river's melodic burbling. The trees whistled their high notes, and the Waller Bogs croaked their baritones, rounding out the symphony of the Moors.

High above her home, Maleficent felt herself slowly melting into the rock column like butter on a hot roll, gradually becoming one with nature, and just as her eyes grew heavy with sleep, her happiness came to a screeching halt. A terrible dread clutched her chest and shook her awake. It wasn't a physical pain, but rather an awful sinking feeling in her core, like she'd just been informed of a death. Confused, she lifted herself from her perch and peered over the edge. It seemed that many of the creatures below had stopped in their routines as well. More than one looked up at her, as a child looks at their mother for guidance in troubling time, expecting some sort of answer in her eyes. They received merely the same worried stare. Below, she spotted the three fairies, Knotgrass, Thistlewit, and Flittle, each touching their chests with the same sinking look on their tiny faces.

Rapt with concern, she returned to her senses first. Standing, she leapt from the stone column, her tawny wings catching her in an updraft. Though she didn't know specifics, she could tell the dread came from some terrible imbalance in nature occurring, and as the most powerful fairy in the land, it was her duty to protect the earth and its creatures.

Diaval felt it in midair, a sinking feeling like a boulder in his belly that threatened to take him to the ground with it. Luckily, the ruins were stood crumbling only a few yards ahead, and he could simply ride the wind the rest of the way. He entered through a dusty stone window into the mostly intact room he called home. He changed into a man immediately upon entering, clutching his heart as he walked on wobbly knees. He figured he'd have a better chance of surviving whatever _this_ was in human form. He braced himself against the wall as he felt the newfound hole in his center pulsing, making it hard to breath. It appalled him, this utter wrongness he felt. As soon as he returned to normal, he would find Maleficent and inform her of this... this… whatever this was.

As if on cue, the horned fairy herself strode through the door-less arch leading into his room, her hand still clutching her chest. She moved with purpose, though hunched in pain, like a Queen on a mission, and upon seeing her friend in distress, dropped the pomp and rushed to his side.

"Diaval," she breathed, real worry knitting her strong eyebrows together. She reached out to do something, anything, only to have him hold out a hand in restraint. To admit that he needed help was a terrible blow to the combined ego of a bird and man.

"What," he whispered in a voice more hoarse than normal, "was that?"

"You felt it too?" she asked, more a statement than a question, searching his eyes with concern. Unlike the others, who revealed more confusion and sadness in their eyes, Diaval held a sort of anger behind his black orbs.

"Like I've been thumped in the chest," he explained between deep, scratchy breaths, "like I've had the wind knocked out of me. There's a deep disturbance in the balance, I can feel it."

"I as well. However none were as affected as you."

"Other's felt it too?"

"All manner of Moor folk at least; I cannot be sure of the humans." Both paused, noticing the sensation to have lessened.

"What do you think it is?" Diaval asked finally, removing his hand from the wall, no longer needing its support.

"I don't know," she answered, casting her eyes down in thought, "But I must know the extent of its reach. I need you to go to the castle and speak with Aurora, find out if anyone else was affected."

"I, em," He garbled, recalling how he left after their last encounter.

"What?" she asked, slightly suspicious as his eyes became flitty and he unconsciously touched his black hair, pulling a downy feather out in the process.

"I don't know if I can make it," he answered finally, thinking quickly. "I nearly crashed when it hit me, what if it happens again?"

Maleficent hummed in thought. He had a point; they had no way of knowing if the sudden melancholia would strike again, and the last thing she wanted was for harm to come to him under her orders. She quickly glanced at the crescent scar on his face; he had already sacrificed so much for her.

"Besides, if Aurora had a problem, she would come to us," he explained further, eager to get his mistress off his case.

"True, " she conceded, already dismissing Diaval's anxiety over the errand as embarrassment over his fear of flying. Birds and their terrible vanity.

"I'm calling a meeting," she announced after some thought, "To see if we can shed light on what just happened. Walk, or fly low, but either way attend," she instructed, true concern showing behind her glimmering eyes.

With that she made her exit out the archway, leaving the man to his thoughts.

Diaval exhaled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Another crisis averted. While the sudden affliction of the Moor people worried his brain, a completely different thought plagued his heart which, as the strongest muscle of the body, bullied his brain into having it's desires take precedence.

Aurora. What was he thinking, bringing her that rose? In what world would that gesture be appropriate? He didn't know what wave of confidence hit him when he thought to pick it for her, but it was gone now, squashed underfoot like the ugly spider it was.

Having raised Aurora since birth, Diaval practically considered her his daughter. But over time, as she grew from a giggling child to a beautiful young woman, his feelings evolved. What began as nurturing instinct slowly became a friendship that became, at least on his end, something more. He adored the way she still played in the rain of autumn leaves, and how she shamelessly engaged in mud fights with the Waller Bogs. Yet from behind the rose-hued haze of love his rational mind screamed at him, _she is your daughter._ So it disgusted him, this love he had for her. He tried suppressing the thoughts but, when he wasn't looking, his mind would wander into visions of them together, his calloused hands grasping her shining, sunny hair, bringing her silken lips to his scarred face— pictures as sweet at wine, and twice as intoxicating.

They would never fit together; she, the Queen of two kingdoms, verging on three if she chose to marry Prince Phillip— he shuddered at the thought — and him, a dirty crow that on occasion became a man. She was a purveyor of light, as virtuous as freshly fallen snow. He, on the other hand, had never felt more ugly, dirty, and dark, the polar opposite of her. It would never work.

Even if he'd mustered the courage to approach her, flower and all, and confess his feelings, what then? If she didn't feel the same, and he was almost certain she didn't, it would ruin their relationship. She would be as horrified and disgusted with him as he already was with himself. She would cast him out. She would tell Maleficent, who would unleash her fury on him, turning him into range of creatures before revoking his transformation abilities so he could never become a man or bird again.

But what if she did feel the same way? The thought had such miniscule odds that he barely considered it, but what if?

He glanced to his left where a makeshift mirror hung above a horribly scratched and sagging table. The "mirror" was the shiny inner side of the late King Stefan's breastplate. Diaval looked into his eyes, dark as the deepest sin, and compared them to the crystal blue of Aurora's. His hair hung thick and black and his skin looked clay white, smudged with ebony where the crow inside shown through. He only saw his impurities. He would never be clean enough to touch her.

He tore his eyes away and walked back to the window. In an instant, he turned himself back into a bird and flew away from the ruins he called home, and the mirror that insisted on taunting him, to the pools of the Moor where the meeting was set to begin.

Shadows played on the seams and notches of the cold stone walls, growing and shrinking with the twitching of the fire in a primitive tribal dance. Despite the flame's desperate gyrations, the room still maintained an icy blue-grey hue, as if viewed through a cobalt lens. Even the ornate red tapestry near the window possessed a dusty greyness, though no dust could be found. The only thing in the room that lacked this steely hue was the large man sitting in a ball by the fire, shivering. Too, his soft warmth seemed to grow by the minute.

Stefan could not be more thankful for the heavy furs the huntsman he inhabited left him to wear. He had no body heat to warm them up, but with the help of a fire and the wooden stein of hot cider in his thick, calloused, and quivering hands, he was beginning to feel just a tickle of heat. But that tickle was not enough for the former king.

"Wh-why am I s-so c-cold?" he croaked in his strange new voice, deeper than before, turning to his savior.

Ravenna observed him with great curiosity from her cushioned chair. Her spell book said nothing about aftercare. She'd truly taken a gamble when she chose to revive Stefan. She found his body far too broken for a traditional resurrection (falling seven stories can do that) so she opted for a little old-fashioned body snatching. Using the living form of one of the local peasant huntsmen, she transplanted Stefan's essence, his conscious spirit, into the body. She really didn't know what to expect. For all she knew she could have created a vampire or ripped the veil between the living and dead. So for now she monitored him, giving him what he asked for and taking notes on his complaints.

"I'm not sure," she answered, "it may be a memory of the cold you felt in your dead body," she speculated, watching him flinch at the mention of being dead. He had trouble accepting his passing, thought she'd told him multiple times. He claimed that he simply felt like he'd woken after a long sleep.

"Other than being cold, how are you feeling?" she asked, equally concerned and curious. Stefan paused for a moment in thought.

"Strange," he answered finally. "I feel as if I'm inside a glove, a huge body-shaped glove. All of my senses are there, just muted. I feel a sort of barrier between my conscious and the world around me." He ran his fingers over the huntsman's thick, calloused hands, feeling the sensation but not truly experiencing it.

Ravenna eyed him further, trying to comprehend his words, when she noticed his cracked and peeling lips. Dehydration. Apparently body swaps took more energy than she thought.

"Drink," she urged, "you'll feel better."

He did as she asked, taking a small sip of the mildly sweet, spiced drink. His throat felt like sandpaper, but as the cider ran down it hot and thick, the pain became more tolerable. He took another sip.

"Ravenna, why did you bring me back?"

She hesitated to answer.

"For many reasons," she began taking a deep breath, "For one I believe you have been gravely wronged, Stefan. I've been with you since the beginning of your problems with that wicked fairy. When I first laid eyes upon her at Aurora's christening I knew she would cause trouble, and she did more than that, she wreaked havoc. In an instant she caused the kingdom to go into a panic. And for what? She had no motivation."

Stefan looked away at this. He never told her his history with Maleficent, how they met as children and became friends. How they progressed to young love, their kiss out of a storybook. How he broke her heart. How he drugged her. How he stole from her. He never told anyone. Queen Ravenna continued on, oblivious to Stefan's guilty conscience for leaving out the details.

"For another, you have been an unwavering friend to me. While you were dealing with struggles of your own you still managed to help me with mine. For God's sake you planned my husband's funeral when I was overcome with grief!" The Queen gave a fake sniff here, recalling the events. She hadn't really been overcome with grief, as she had been the one to kill him; however, Stefan's intervention was a great distraction for her court while she plotted the political overhaul of her late husband's kingdom. "You died fighting for the one member of your family you had left, your daughter. And that speaks to me. I've lost my mother and my husband. I brought you back because I couldn't bear to lose anyone else."

Ravenna gazed at him intensely, allowing her message to sink in. Stefan peered into the murky liquid in his stein, remembering the letters they'd exchanged over the years. He'd often poured his heart out to her over the pain of his losses and she returned in kind. They both shared the pain of losing someone dear, and through that, he felt, they could understand each other

"And," she continued, her gaze hardening, "You have unfinished business with a certain fairy."

Of course, Ravenna neglected to disclose the real reason she brought him back: she needed him to return to power so _she_ could take his throne. With him reinstated as King she could continue her conquest, seducing Kings with her youth and beauty and then killing them to take their power. She already controlled half the countryside, but she craved more, more land, more power. Stefan's kingdom always presented a significant obstacle. It held great military power, especially with Stefan's draft calling in an excess of 2,000 soldiers in the castle town alone. Then there were the Moors, with the belligerent Maleficent hell-bent on protecting her lands at all cost. She held off Stefan's armies easily for sixteen years, and King Henry's armies before that. With such a threat as her neighbor, early on Ravenna decided she could settle for a quiet coup; a wedding, a tragic death, and the next day, a coronation.

But, after Stefan's unplanned death and Aurora's coronation dashed her three-step plan, she had no way to take over the kingdom other than outright war, which was far too time-consuming, messy, and risky for her tastes. Besides, her troops were already battling Duke Hammond's men as well as numerous peasant rebellions on the countryside and she feared stretching them too thin.

Stefan scoffed at her remark, taking another draught of cider.

"And what do you propose we do about that?" he asked. "Maleficent's already won, nothing can change that."

"Don't worry about that now. You need to become healthy first, regain your strength. I've never brought anyone back from the dead before," she admitted, giving a slightly awkward smile, "and I'm not sure what to expect. So lets take it slow. Let me know if you need anything, alright? Are you still cold?"

"Yes," he answered truthfully.

"I'll have the maids run you a bath. That should warm you up and make you more comfortable. I'll be right back."

She left the room in silence, the layers of her skirts making soft _swish-swish-swishing_ noises as she passed the former King, huddled on the floor next to the hearth for warmth. He didn't feel very King-like now, not in this position. Setting his mug down he inspected himself, something he wasn't really able to do with Ravenna constantly watching him. Never a skinny man, Stefan, during his previous go at life, possessed a healthy medium build, save that last bit where paranoia and madness caused his physic to decline as well. This body, however, dwarfed his other body greatly. He stretched over two meters high, and his limbs felt muscular from a life of manual labor.

He reached up and touched the greasy hair that fell to his shoulders. It felt thinner than his other body's, and less wiry. Blonde too, he noticed with some surprise as he pulled a long lock over his forehead. He felt his neck, rough from stubble, but fairly elastic. He realized that this body… his body, he reminded himself yet again, must be substantially younger than his old one. He wondered how old he would turn come his birthday, or which birthday he would celebrate for that matter.

 _Don't trust her_ , a voice whispered.

Stefan whipped his head around, scanning the room only to find it empty. He stared at the glass window, blackened by the night sky. Perhaps a servant left it cracked and the voice came from outside? Perhaps it wasn't a voice at all, but the wind?

He heard the soft _swish-swish-swishing_ of Ravenna's gown as she returned.

"Stefan?" she called softly from the doorway, "Everything's ready, if you are."

He cast one more glance out the window before turning to face her, nervously running a hand through his new hair. He decided it was best not to tell her about the voice.


	4. Double Checking

p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"emDouble-Checking/em/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"The meeting had already begun by the time Diaval arrived. Moorland meetings were nothing like the war-room caucuses of Stefan's kingdom, where a select few gathered in a dark room to receive battle plans. Here, meetings were open forums held democratically with minimal formal organization. Due to the unsettling subject matter of this particular assembly, the Moorfolk gathered in small, timid clusters, whispering between themselves. Maleficent supposedly mediated at the head of the clearing, standing near where her old throne used to be, however she appeared consumed in conversation with a fairy, one Diaval did not recognize. His mistress caught sight of him from the corner of her eyes and discretely beckoned towards him./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""Diaval, this is Morrow," she said as her former servant approached, cautiously. "She is one of the oldest fairies in the Moors."/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""Strange that I've never met you before," he said, taking in this new, tiny creature. He felt like he should shake her hand or, perhaps kiss it (human men did that to ladies, right?), but her's were so tiny and frail he feared crushing them./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"She appeared around the same size as the three fairies that watched over Aurora, but unlike them her body seemed positively shriveled, worse than the oldest of raisins. For some reason he'd entertained the belief that fairies didn't age, but one glance at her and he knew they did; her face displayed more crisscrossed lines than a whole head of cabbage leaves. She wore a modest lavender colored gown made of what looked like tulip petals stretched over her painfully arched back. Another petal covered her head, less like a lady's cap and more like a nun's veil. Still, one could catch her dusty white hair peeking out like corn silk from underneath./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""She prefers a life of solitude so that she may dedicate herself to the care of the Moors," explained Maleficent./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"emStrange,/em thought Diaval, emshe looks far too clean for a hermit./em/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Maleficent turned her attention back to the fairy, "Morrow, I believe—"/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"The old fairy cut her off, her dragonfly's wings carrying her away from the Great Fairy and over to the man in black. She began a slow circle around his head, making Diaval slightly nervous and thus keen to follow her orbit. Maleficent placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to turn back and face her, surprised at her sudden contact. She shook her head once; emno. /emHe was to stand still for this inspection, apparently. Maleficent let go of him as Morrow came full circle. Next, the little creature came at his nose, placing her miniature hands, no bigger than a brussel sprout, on his forehead. He closed his eyes and felt honeyed warmth under her palms, like the sun after rain. She pulled away a few moments later, allowing him to open his eyes again. Her brows knitted together and her cloudy gray eyes searched his pitch black ones for a moment before she flitted backwards to speak to Maleficent again./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""He is a raven at heart," she whispered, her voice tiny and slightly forced, as if she hadn't spoken in a long time. It reminded him of the voice one has the morning after a sore throat, scratched and carried on a breath./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""Yes," confirmed his mistress, cautiously, all too aware of her confidant's condition./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""Ravens," Morrow began, with the air of a person ready to unleash some knowledge upon their listener, "are carrion birds. This, plus their dark feathers and harsh call, created mythos that they had a special connection between this world and the next," she breathed. "This perception is not unwarranted; ravens are connected to the dead in ways even they are unaware of. They walk the line between the realms, and can feel any imperfections in the boundary. You say the imbalance affected your friend more than the rest? I believe this is because the imbalance occurred in a realm your friend is more attune to than the others, the realm of death. Has someone died recently?"/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"The Great Fairy and the Raven looked at each other, eyes wide./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""I would look into that," Morrow whispered finally, noticing their faces. Silently she floated away, into the woods, her job complete. The two didn't notice she'd left. Maleficent swallowed thickly, a sick feeling in her stomach./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""You need to go to the graveyard where he's buried," she urged, avoiding his name, a note of desperation in her voice. "Check his grave and find out if anything … happened." She finished./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""Of course," he answered, his concern increasing at Maleficent's visible fear. To have one who is usually a pillar of serenity show her cracks was unsettling at the least. He took a step back and returned to his winged form, still slightly dazed at Morrow's suggestion./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""Be careful," his mistress cautioned. She suspected dark magic at play here. Her magic, the kind that drew from the earth, would never allow her to do something that would upset the balance, but she knew of others who did not follow her code. These sorceresses gathered their power from darker sources, often absorbing the powers of others for their own benefit. She feared that Diaval, a raven imbued with her own magic, would be made into an ingredient for some witch's stew./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"*~*~*~*/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"In the daylight, the graveyard actually seemed pleasant, that is, if one forgot that it functioned as an underground storage lot for the dead. Actually, the landscape reminded Diaval of a garden, with flowers placed next to many of the stones and a few trees speckled here and there for shade. There were even a few benches for mourners to sit and cry on. emMore like a park, really./em/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"He circled above the property a few times, looking for freshly turned dirt. Surprisingly, he found at least four tan rectangles scattered amongst the rich green./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"emI guess what they say about the ripple effect is true,/em he thought,em even for deaths./em/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"He landed on a headstone in front of one of the fresh plots and studied the basic wooden cross marking it. Two boards wrapped together with twine at right angles; emsimple enough/em, he thought. Across the horizontal beam he found a smattering of dark markings burned into the wood, little black loops and crosses, arranged in indiscriminant bunches that he couldn't make sense of. He couldn't read./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Checking for bystanders, he hopped off the headstone and changed into a man. His earlier fly-by alerted him of a small lodging at the other end of the cemetery, presumably where the undertaker or groundskeeper lived. He began walking toward it, brushing off a few black feathers, hoping the man inside could help him locate the King's grave./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Diaval felt a ball of anxiety form in his stomach at the prospect of speaking to another human. The only other human he'd ever spoken to was Aurora, and she knew of his true, feathered form. This man (or woman) did not know. Would he have to try and act human then? His stomach clenched with nerves at the idea. What did humans act like? From what little Maleficent spoke of them he'd gleaned that they were dirty, greedy, liars, but Aurora was a human and she wasn't like that at all. Diaval too was human (at least physically) an increasing amount of the time and liked to think he embodied none of these traits. However, he decided, that may have been a fluke in the system due to his animal origins. He contemplated employing these personality traits for his farce, but found himself running out of time as he edged closer to the house at the end of the graveyard./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Approaching the house now, Diaval couldn't tell if it was a residence or a business. The front lawn bore a sign with thick brown writing on it, more mysterious squiggles for the illiterate man-bird. Two windows rested inside the front wall, small squares of glass held by a metal lattice. He gave a quick glance inside as he walked by and spotted a round man sitting at a table, reading./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"He decided to knock twice on the door. That's what people did before entering, wasn't it? People always knocked on Aurora's bedroom door before entering. To Diaval, it always signaled his time to either hide or leave. He imagined though that it must have something to do with privacy, a human concern he'd recently begun to understand. Animals naturally had no since of privacy. But at any rate, he knocked./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""'Oo is it?" he heard a gruff voice call in a thick Scottish accent./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""Phillip," he answered, suddenly hyper aware of his naturally scratchy voice, an echo of his caw. He wondered if, to normal ears, he sounded ill. He'd quickly decided on using a false name, choosing the only other human boy's name he knew besides Stefan. "I'm here to ask about the graves?"/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""Well come in," the voice said, with a hint of irritation. Who would come to the graveyard to talk of anything embut/em the graves? In reality, this simple truth annoyed the Undertaker, as he really did wish someone would visit to speak of a more interesting subject than the dead. For example, he found the recent change in the sociopolitical dynamic of the country rather fascinating. But the weather would do too, if nothing else. /p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Diaval opened the door slowly, peering inside. The main floor housed a table with two chairs pushed against a window, a woven rug, some basic cabinetry, and a fireplace in the back. Diaval's eyebrows rose when he saw the shelf of clean, leather-bound books in the back by the fireplace. He had no idea what the titles were, but he imagined they were something very intelligent, yet interesting. The seated man mashed his thick brows together at this queer looking newcomer ogling his home, becoming confused and slightly irritated./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""Well come on," he urged, frowning. Diaval hurried with the door and made his way closer to the table, still maintaining a good distance. Middle aged and quite sweaty, the man sat with his short legs spread wide to make way for his protruding belly. His deep grey eyes, splashed with a cloudy film and several burst capillaries, probed the nervous young man beneath a thick helmet of salt-and-pepper hair. "Were 'ou lookin' for a plot? Because we 'ave some space on the south end if 'ou'll be wantin' that."/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Diaval's head tilted minutely to the side in confusion. What did he mean "a plot"? The undertaker squinted at him. This visitor was already giving him a strange vibe and he didn't like it. He looked awkward, out of place, especially with his pasty white skin and hair black as tar. He looked like one of those starry-eyed scholars, only more nervous. "Not properly socialized", that's what his wife would say./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""Ah, no," he answered, "I was actually looking for a specific grave. Do you remember where King Stefan was buried?"/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"The undertaker sucked his head back in disgust, baring his teeth, an awful piss yellow with brown edges, in a grimace. Diaval found himself giving a slight grimace back, a natural reaction to imitate./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""That old prune? Why are you lookin' for 'im?" Now the undertaker grew suspicious./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""I'm just here to, uh, pay my respects," he tried, swallowing a lump in his throat. He didn't like the look this man was giving him. emAbort, abort!/em/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""You can 'pay your respects' by leavin' that fruit to dry," he said, rather callously. As an undertaker Diaval expected him to have a little more respect for the dead, even if they were revenge-thirsty maniacs. When he saw that the man wouldn't budge, he went for another tactic./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""Look, if you won't help me find it, can I at least ask you to write his name on a piece of paper so I can look for it myself? I—I've forgotten how to spell it," he lied, feeling self-conscious about his illiteracy in the presence of an obviously learned man by the size of his bookshelf. The man squinted his eyes./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""'ou've… 'ou've forgotten 'ow to emspell/em it?" Diaval smiled sheepishly. "It's only on every other street sign and statue!" Diaval smiled harder. The man grumbled for a moment before standing up and retrieving a small piece of parchment and a lead pencil from a drawer. He quickly scrawled some symbols on the paper and handed it over to the very strange man leaning noticeably towards him, as if poised for something. As he turned to leave, the undertaker called out to him once more:/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;""When you find 'em, give his stone a swift kick for me, will ya?" Diaval smiled and nodded, eager to get out of the house. He was beginning to feel claustrophobic, especially with the thick heat coming from the fireplace and the squinty glares the undertaker shot his way. His acting obviously needed some work./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"He shut the cottage door behind him and peered closely at the scrap of parchment. The symbols looked like crow tracks, with some squiggles and circles thrown in. emDrunken crow tracks,/em he thought smiling. He marveled at how the humans could discern any information from this mess of lines. He pocketed the paper and made his way back to the grave he landed on earlier. He didn't notice as the undertaker watched him from his window, eyes leering at this strange individual./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Returning to the wooden cross, Diaval attempted to match the markings on the paper to the ones on the marker. Unsuccessful, he moved on to another fresh mound with the same results. On his third try, he struck gold. The markings matched well enough, and the only thing left to do was dig down and see if the coffin underneath the earth contained the late King. He frowned. He didn't have a shovel. Furthermore, even a lowly animal like himself knew that there were laws against grave desecration. He looked up to the sky and saw the sun sitting low on the horizon. It wouldn't be long now until it sunk completely below the earth's edge. He would wait for the cover of darkness./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"By the light of the crescent moon and an endless blanket of stars, Diaval returned to the graveyard after a crow's dinner at one of the neighboring cornfields. He flew back to the cottage, relieved to find the windows dark, neither candle nor fireplace burning into the night. With the owner asleep, he could easily commandeer a shovel to overturn Stefan's grave. That is, if he could find one. He landed on a thin ledge of wood outside the second story's window. Diaval saw that the latch sat upright so, throwing his miniscule body weight into it, he pushed the window open just enough for him to squeeze inside. The undertaker slept in a small bed, with his similarly rotund wife lying next to him. One of them snored like a congested walrus, though he couldn't tell whom; then again, it could be both of them. Diaval wondered how the bed remained in one piece, and how they could both fit on it comfortably. He didn't linger on these thoughts though. As long as they slept deeply, he could continue his search without disturbance./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"He scanned the room and saw nothing, so he hopped from the ledge and swooped out the door and into the hallway. He explored the next room, and then flew downstairs again to check the backroom he hadn't seen earlier. Still, no shovel. He did, however, spot a wooden square on the floor with a ring for a handle. He recognized this as the trapdoor to a cellar. Landing on the floor, he hopped over the crack between door and ground, feeling a bone-chilling draft rise from the depths. He imagined this door hid the undertaker's workshop of sorts, one for preparing cadavers for their final resting place./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Despite being a "bird connected to death", as Morrow put it, Diaval shivered in his feathers. He'd admit that he enjoyed carrion in the past, the leftover bits of some carnivore's hunt left to bake in the afternoon sun; but that was before he ever met Maleficent and expanded his mind though magical transformation. Now the thought of eating scraps from an hours old kill disgusted him. But at least with eating scraps, one didn't have to see the creature's face, the expression of terror it wore during its final dying breath, before devouring it. AtBut this disgust only happened during the day. At night, as it was now, terror sets in. night, when identity becomes mere guesswork in the absence of light, when the eyes cannot see the boundary between life and death so clearly, fear sets in./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"In this moment as Diaval stood, a tiny, breakable crow at the entrance to the undertaker's workshop, the human inside realized he wasn't nearly desperate enough to venture below. He promptly flew back upstairs and exited the house through the window, feeling some of the weight come off his wings as he reentered the night air./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"He didn't realize the gravity of his situation until now; roaming around an undertaker's house on the edge of a graveyard just a few strokes before midnight constituted nightmare fodder for any ordinary mortal, but for the shape-shifting companion of the most powerful fairy in the land, it was all in a day's work./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"He landed on the glowing white marble of Stefan's grave and thought of what to do. He didn't have a shovel, and digging with ones hands is incredibly inefficient. He considered changing himself to a mole and going through the dirt to see if he could hit the coffin, but the thought of moving through the ground, tightly packed soil pressing him from every direction, repulsed him, and, if he was honest, it scared him a little too. He'd done it once before, under Maleficent orders no less, and had returned to the surface gasping for air, feeling as if he was suffocating in the dank underground. It was then that he first discovered his severe claustrophobia and Maleficent, being the fair mistress she was, never turned him into a burrowing creature again. Furthermore, as a creature of avian origins, he naturally preferred wide-open skies and fresh air; an enclosed tunnel was the opposite of ideal./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"When he finally realized what he had to do, his mood dropped like a rock. If his beak would allow it, he would have groaned. Hopping off the stone, he shifted his feathers into thick fur and morphed his wings and twiggy feet into a set of four heavy paws. His beak stretched and shifted into a long muzzle; a set of thick, jagged teeth grew gleaming white in the moonlight, making him appear far more dangerous than he felt at the moment. Oh, how he hated dogs./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"Pressing his wet black muzzle to the ground he began scratching and pawing at the dirt, lifting large clumps of it and throwing them behind him. An hour later, he'd unearthed a good four feet of earth and worked up a terrible sweat, but the coffin remained missing./p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"He sat back on his haunches. No coffin. What now?/p  
p style="max-height: 999999px; font-family: Verdana, Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"He got up again and pressed his oversized, wet nose to the ground. While he was in this embarrassing, hideous form, he might as well use what tools he had on hand, or, in this case, on face. He circled the stone, furiously sniffing. When he reached the left side of the grave, he caught something. He didn't know what Stephen smelled like, since he had never encountered him in dog form, but he did know what nature smelled like, and this smell was not natural. His nose prickled with the sharp, stinging scent, a stale bitter aroma that could clear ones nose and water their eyes. It could only be one thing; Alcohol. He didn't know where Stephen was, but someone else had come here not long ago. Perhaps if he followed this scent, he would find out more about the ex-king./p 


	5. Seven for a Secret

_Seven for a Secret_

A series of quick knocks on his chamber door roused in the former King from his sleep. Each knock brought him further and further from a vivid dream; one joyful in context but with a strange underlying tone of guilt. In it, Stefan playfully chased a mysterious woman, one he had never met but somehow still knew, through lush green fields. The ripple of the grasses in the cool breeze constantly hid her from vie, only to have her sneak back in as the stalks shifted back, ebbing and flowing like the ocean waves. She wore a brown frock with a large tear in the fabric right above her breast; however, despite her plain dress she embodied a natural beauty. Her deep chestnut hair swayed gently as she bounded through green barley, and her creamy white cheeks flushed pink in her laughter. As they frolicked she always remained two steps ahead of him, just out of Stefan's grasp. A name, he recalled a name swimming through his head all night, but it too remained just out of reach.

 _Sa… s…_ two blinks of an eye later he lost it, along with her picture.

"Sir?" asked a voice on the other side of the door. Stefan's head cleared. "Sir?"

"Yes?" he asked, rubbing his eyes before throwing off the sheets. He plucked his robe from the end his bed, and opened the door just as he slipped his arms into its plush sleeves.

"The Queen has requested you join her on a morning walk," informed the servant, considerably shorter than the King in his new body. Stefan turned around to see the skyline just turning pink in the windows behind him. "She wanted to see the sun rise," the servant explained.

"As the Queen wishes."

He splashed some cool water on his face and dressed in the clothes he wore yesterday. His frame would burst the seams of the Queen's brother's clothes, and the servant's thin tunics were no better. Slipping on his leather jacket, he stepped outside his room into the silent hallway. He couldn't help but notice all the differences between this castle and his own. The stones in the floor seemed duller and farther apart than the ones that lined his floors. Perhaps it was just his longer legs, but he noticed less distance between steps on the stairs as well. He couldn't decide if he was still adjusting to his new body, or if something was just off about the castle.

Stefan didn't know exactly where to meet the Queen, so he wandered a bit. A servant would find him eventually, he reasoned. However, he soon found himself wandering into unknown territory. This part of the castle seemed lit by golden candlelight rather than the usual hoary haze that filtered through the ever-present clouds. Stefan turned down a long hallway and found two great oak doors twice his height blocking his way. He imagined they opened into a great dining hall, and he was very hungry, so using his newly acquired strength, he grunted and pushed them open, the heavy wood grunting back.

The doors revealed a great space that surprisingly sat rather empty. Warm light flooded the walls and everything in between them, and the glow seemed to emanate solely from a giant bronze dish standing on the right. It had an incredibly reflective surface, more than moorland water on a sunny day, or a window at midnight. He could sense a dark power rolling off it in heavy waves, and for that Stefan feared it.

On the far side of the room lay a small empty pool, really an oversized bathtub built into the floor. He'd read about the Romans' bathhouses and wondered if Ravenna was attempting to bring that sort of classic culture into her kingdom.

However, all of this was merely an afterthought, as the bulk of his attentions focused on the gray-haired woman strewn across the floor. Her bony, wrinkled hand curled upwards, liver spots dotting the translucent flesh. A mess of silver hair concealed the details of her face, but Stefan could still see her wide, screaming mouth through the curtain. Though no blood littered the ground, the woman was clearly dead.

 _Get out!_ The voice in his head yelled at him, but he didn't need the advice.

He took one shaking step backwards before turning and running out the vast oak doors. Dark magic and dead women were not in his morning itinerary. Not today. Not yet.

Stefan had the entire long (brisk) walk back through the castle to reason with himself. The dish couldn't have been magical, what good would a massive enchanted dish be? Certainly no good for serving, that's for sure, so it must be for decoration only. Perhaps it went with the Romanesque bath, yes certainly, all bathrooms in Rome had mirrors, didn't they?

And the woman? He could not dismiss what he'd seen. No, far too real, the image of her was permanently burned into his mind. She clearly didn't die of natural causes, but who could have done this to her? He couldn't imagine Ravenna doing something so… devious. Messy. Perhaps her brother then, the ominous Finn? Still, he could only imagine what Ravenna went through to bring him back from the other side; there must be some dirt on her hands, some red in her moral ledger. It couldn't be too hard an idea to believe Ravenna might be behind the woman's murder.

 _Ravenna knows what she's doing, it's all part of the plan. With any war, there will be casualties,_ he reasoned as he quickly left the room in his dust.

After Stefan's scattered, fear-inducted rationalization concluded, he worked on shoving the incident into the back of his mind. He had just about succeeded in doing so when Ravenna herself, looking more lovely than usual, called him.

"Stefan! There you are," she walked over to him from the staircase she just appeared from. "We've been looking all over for you! Thought you'd gone back to sleep. Anyway, we must leave at once or we'll miss the sunrise!"

Diaval followed the horrid alcohol scent into the forest that stood on the opposite side of the kingdom as the Moors. He had never traveled here by land before, only ever by air as he flew over it once or twice on errands for his mistress. Now that he travelled through it, he half expected it to contain the same mystical qualities as his homeland. He discovered that, while full of magic, it was not the good kind. He felt it in his bones as his large paws padded over coarse soil; the evil seemed to rise from the ground like noxious fumes come to poison him. The spots on the mushrooms formed wicked faces in the moonlight, and even the gnarly roots and fallen branches seemed to reach out for him. He could tell it was all an illusion, but the knowledge made it no less frightening. He kept his nose to the ground and tried to stay focused on his course.

By morning light, he reached the edge of the forest. Looking out to the open land, he saw a great castle perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. He had come very far indeed, several miles it seemed, as he had never seen the sea on his previous trips overhead. High white walls surrounded the castle with the only visible ground entrance a great portcullis with two guards in the adjacent towers. As Diaval took in his surroundings and tried to devise a plan on how to follow his trail, he noticed a tall, blonde-haired man and an extremely beautiful woman strolling a few meters from the forest's edge. The man held his right elbow out, and the woman clasped it lightly with her pale, delicate hand. Her blue eyes shone like the waters of the Moor, only clearer, and her lips moved softly and delicately, like a pink worm wriggling just below her nose, two high complements from a Moorland crow.

"Just a few miles beyond this forest, your kingdom awaits you," She told the man as he gazed out among the emerald trees and bramble bushes. Diaval's limp ears shot up.

The man said nothing, so the woman spoke up again.

"I am sure you miss it. Fear not; soon I will devised a plan so clever, it will guarantee you your kingdom back," she continued, flashing him a smile so lovely it rivaled a flower in its radiance.

 _Back?_ Thought Diaval, listening even more intently while simultaneously dropping himself further to the ground to better hide. He considered changing into a mouse or a fly, but he feared missing a piece of their conversation during the transformation.

"I hate this waiting," the man conceded, helping his lady over a muddy patch, "I wish I could do something now, something to help."

"All I need you to do now is regain your strength, relearn the world after your sleep." She rounded him, stepping in his path to prevent him from moving any farther. They stood right in front of Diaval now, hidden as he was behind a thick bramble bush speckled with black berries.

"Do not worry about me, or the plan. For now, I have it covered.", she said softly, causing him to unconsciously lean in to hear her. She moved her hands to his thick biceps, gripping them lightly to prove her point. She rested there a moment, letting him drink in her youthful, golden glow. She had drained a maiden of her juvenescence late last night, so she knew she looked her absolute best.

He swallowed thickly. He couldn't tell if she was waiting for an answer or just pausing for emphasis. Everything was going a bit foggy to be honest.

 _Her eyes, don't look into her eyes,_ whispered the voice.

Of course, once he heard that he immediately looked into her eyes, noticing their soft, hypnotic gaze. He blinked once and looked away.

"Of course, my Queen," he answered, the fog slowly dissipating. She clucked her tongue gently, moving her hands from his arms.

"Oh Stefan, I've told you, call me Ravenna. You are still a King, even if your throne is under the care of another. We'll get it back from your daughter soon enough.

The woman went back to his side, took his arm again, and continued their early morning walk.

Back behind his bush, Diaval's ears were ringing.

 _Stefan. She called him Stefan, and told him he'd get his kingdom back. From his_ daughter. The clues were all too obvious. This man didn't look like the dead King, but Diaval knew appearances could be deceiving. He himself was evidence of that. He didn't know how it happened; Stefan was clearly dead when they scraped his body from the stones of the castle, but that woman, that Queen, just spoke to him, to Stefan. He couldn't wrap his head around the _how_ of the situation, but he sure as Hell knew the _what_ ; King Stefan had returned, and is ready to regain his throne.

Realizing the urgency of the situation, Diaval quickly regrew his customary black feathers and took off into the sky, breaking through the canopy of trees like a bat out of hell.

A few meters off, the startled coupled turned around to see a flutter of green leaves as a raven burst from the treetops, scared by something below. The Queen scrunched her perfect brows.

"Odd, " she remarked. Her companion grunted in response. "Oh! I've just remembered. The tailor is coming in today to fit you for some new clothes. I can't have you wearing the huntsman's clothing forever; it is simply not fit for a King!"

Ravenna glanced back at the portcullis where her brother, Finn, just arrived. He looked disgruntled; behind him only a few men remained from a large search party the night before. She frowned.

"Why don't you head back now to meet him," she suggested.

"I couldn't leave you all alone,"

"My brother Finn just returned from an, ah… errand. When you pass him, tell him to join me."

Stefan nodded and walked away from her. She turned round and headed back to the berry bush she'd seen earlier. If she was correct, the round, black berries were a crop of _Bella Donna_ , the elusive Deadly Nightshade she'd been running low on. She reached the bush and plucked one plump fruit from the vine, examining it's unblemished exterior. It was then in her concentration that she felt it.

A certain electricity crackled within the air, a sensation unfelt a moment ago. She looked up, past the bush, and noticed a slight waver in the air, like the one above a fire or when looking through water. She narrowed her eyes.

"Sister?"

She thrust a hand out, silencing her brother. "Do you see that?"

"See—?"

"Do you _feel_ that? The slight chill of lingering power?" She stepped around the bush, hoisting her skirts to get through the tall grasses. Stepping into the small clearing behind the bush, she saw obvious paw prints in the soft ground, and scattered among them she noticed several black feathers.

Stepping into the invisible, magical cloud, she felt it even more strongly.

"Shape shifter," she whispered. She reached down and picked up a feather, twirling it in her fingers. She looked up, remembering the crow that burst through here earlier.

"Finn," she called, gazing at the feather, "I think I have a plan for our dear King Stefan."


	6. Once Bitten, Twice Shy

_Once Bitten, Twice Shy_

"No, I haven't heard a thing about Stefan, not since his death," Queen Aurora answered, looking into her godmother's topaz eyes. The two sat at a small table outside, sharing a light lunch with tea. The sun shone brightly behind a lightly cloudy sky, with a light breeze bringing the sweet scent of honeysuckle to gently wafting up their noses. Cook had prepared them two wild salads, consisting of mostly leafy greens with dashes of purple violets, white clover, and yellow dandelion. Aurora explained to him that Maleficent kept a strict vegetarian diet, one that she herself kept as well before becoming Queen.

"No rumors then? No whisperings in the halls?" Maleficent coaxed, trying to keep the conversation light. No sense in worrying the girl, especially if the old fairy's suggestion amounted to nothing more than a wild goose chase.

"I never took you as one for gossip," giggled Aurora, sipping her tea.

"Ah well, you know what they say about old habits," she said casually, referring to her history of spying on the vengeful king.

"Godmother, he's gone now," Aurora said, suddenly serious, her smile gone. This strong, beautiful woman saved her life on countless occasions throughout her childhood, even when Aurora's family had so devastatingly wronged her in the past. Aurora wanted to give her the world and more as thanks for being her surrogate mother, but for now the least she could guarantee her was a life free of her tormentor.

"You're safe," she told her, with as much sincerity as she could express.

"I know," Maleficent replied after a beat, smiling gently. Here was her little beastie, the one she pulled from cliff sides and tucked into bed, looking after her. _How the tables turn_ , she thought.

The two quietly sipped their tea for another moment, enjoying the wonderful day, when Maleficent spoke again.

"So," she began, "how's running the country?"

Aurora rolled her eyes and groaned dramatically, setting her teacup down with a hard _tink._ Maleficent chuckled.

"I feel completely powerless," she replied, adding another eye roll to emphasize her annoyance. Maleficent narrowed her eyebrows. She imagined Aurora being overwhelmed with all the new power, not the other way around.

"Nobody listens to me. The court always overrules my ideas," she moaned before giving an example. "I told them I felt we should give compensation to the families of the men who died in battle over these past years, and they told me it would be far too costly. I suggested a tax break instead, and they shot me down."

"What about creating a feast day in their memory? Or a memorial statue?" suggested Maleficent, "that would certainly be cheaper."

"I suggested a day of remembrance, but they told me it would cut serf productivity." The fairy huffed and sipped her tea again as Aurora continued. "Did you know the Feast of the Royal Family is still on the calendar? How does that not cut into 'productivity', but a day of remembrance does?"

Maleficent shrugged as Aurora collapsed back into her chair and sulked.

"Careful beasty, your youth is showing," she chided playfully, watching the teenager pout. Just as she opened her mouth to offer another piece of advice, she became distracted by a small black object darting through the sky. The object nearly passed the castle before rounding back again and barreling straight towards them. Her staring caught the attention of Aurora, who followed her gaze to the newfound projectile as well.

Within moments, the black spot revealed itself as a raven, and in the same moment, it reached within a few feet of their table. The creature immediately shed its fowl form in a small explosion of feathers. From the cloud appeared a breathless and, frankly, grimy Diaval, crouched low on the ground from his abrupt landing. His hair appeared uncharacteristically disheveled, as did his once soft hands, now stained black with dirt under his nails from digging up Stefan's grave the night before.

After several heaving breaths, he managed to get out, "It's true!"

"What?" both of the women said in unison.

"What is he talking about?" Aurora asked, becoming excited. "Diaval?"

"Yes, what _are_ you talking about?"

"What the fairy said * _wheeze*_ its true!" The man lifted his hands from his knees and placed them on his former mistress' shoulders. She cringed at his touch, the act giving her flashbacks to 16 years ago, but did not pull away. His black eyes pierced her green ones as he rasped, "He's back."

Maleficent sat back down, stupefied, unable to move or say anything. Her gaze floated off to the side, looking at nothing in particular as her mind stood still. Aurora, on the other hand, still completely clueless, shouted questions.

"Who's back? Who are you talking about? Godmother, tell me!"

Maleficent's eyes flickered back to Diaval, concern and worries bubbling up like the effervescence in peasant ale. She didn't want to tell Aurora, in her blissful juvenescence about this, she wanted to keep her safe and ignorant to the horror. Diaval's frown deepened and he gave her a meaningful stare. Though he shared the same feelings as his former mistress, he knew better than to hide things from Aurora. She was the Queen now and she ought to know; Maleficent, he thought, should understand this as well.

Turning slowly, the once strong, stoic Queen of the Moors faced her godchild, her eyes hard. She clasped Aurora's small hands within her own, and the child's fervor calmed at once.

"I do not know how, and I do not know why, but your father has returned to the world of the living. I can only expect that he seeks revenge upon his killer."

"He doesn't have a killer; he fell," Aurora pleaded, "he just fell."

"I doubt he sees it that way."

Diaval approached the two women slowly, wringing his hands. He always seemed to be the bearer of bad news. At least he was in character. Black bird, black news.

"I don't want to frighten you, Aurora, but," he paused, casting his gaze to the pebbly dirt before meeting the young Queen's eyes once again, "he wants the Kingdom back as well."

Aurora's face sunk further as her fears were confirmed. Part of her entertained the silly notion that he would avoid his former life, but really she knew there was no point in rising from the dead if you're not going to enact revenge upon your enemies. The fairy felt Aurora's fingers tremble within her grasp.

"Tell us what you've heard," commanded Maleficent to Diaval, never taking her eyes of the girl in front of her.

"Only that Stefan is back," he answered, "He does not look like himself; he wears the body of another, but he has the same name, the same voice, and the same memories as the Stefan we know. He was with a woman too, Ravenna, a Queen in her own right. She's helping him reclaim his throne."

"How?"

"I-I don't know."

"Is that all?"

"Yes mistress."

Maleficent stood straighter, regaining some of her former regality. She let go of Aurora's hands and turned to face her companion.

"I must tell the rest of the Moorfolk. You," she said, casting her gaze to Diaval, " you will stay here with Aurora; see to it that she is cared for and protected."

"Yes, mistress," he replied casting his gaze downward.

"Diaval," she chided.

"Yes… Maleficent."

She gave him a tight smile and lifted her hand awkwardly, as if to touch him, but then drew back, thinking better of it.

"I trust you," she whispered.

With that, she took a few steps away before unfurling her wings and launching herself into the air. Diaval watched for a moment as she gracefully soared high overhead, becoming smaller and smaller until she reached the trees of the Moors and disappeared into them entirely. Then, he turned to the silent Queen.

"Aurora?" She didn't reply. He took a step towards her. "Aurora?"

"Tell me it's not true," she said, her voice wavering. "Tell me he hasn't come back."

"Aurora I—"

"Tell me that monster has not returned!"

"I can't," he said, feeling just as broken as her voice. Her eyes scrunched up tighter, and tears began to well up. He rushed to her and gathered her in his chest.

"Shh," he soothed, "It will be alright, shh".

He felt her arms wrap around him and clutch his coat just as he wrapped his own arms around her heaving shoulders. He remembered being in this exact same position not two days ago and wondered if his embrace would ever be more than a post to cry on. He rubbed his large, rough hands in gentle, circular motions over her back to further sooth her. Glancing down, he finally noticed the filthy condition of his hands, and how they were forming ugly brown smears on her sky blue gown. _He would never be clean enough to touch her._

Realizing his mistake, he withdrew his embrace and pushed gently on her shoulders to separate them, only to have her hold on steadfast.

"Please don't let go Diaval, not right now, not yet." She mumbled beneath the worn fabric of his shirt.

"You think I would leave you?" he replied, "not a chance. I just don't want the whole kingdom to see you like this. Why don't we go inside so you can have a good cry in the privacy of your own room?"

"B-but the staff and t-the court will see me in the halls," she mumbled.

"I know another way."

Leading her to the back of the castle near the servant's quarters, Diaval opened a high window and helped the Queen through in a not-so-ladylike fashion. They travelled up a set of cobwebbed spiral stairs that opened into a room haphazardly strew with hammocks.

"The barracks of the iron workers, courtesy of King Stefan."

He heard her sniffle and realized his mistake. He quickly pulled her across the room before she could resume crying and opened another door. This one revealed a hallway, leading to more stairs, and finally the hall that led to her room.

Once inside, Diaval shut and latched the wooden door, allowing Aurora to collapse on her bed. She wriggled for a moment, and then stood back up.

"Diaval," she said, "I'm going to need your help with this."

"What?" he asked, his eyes bugging slightly as he watched her unlace the front of her dress. She pulled off the outer shell to reveal a cream colored, tightly laced corset underneath.

"Please, " she said, as she contorted her arms behind her back to begin pulling on strings.

"Oh, em, right," he mumbled before walking over to her and attempting to loosen the strings. She pulled her shining locks over one shoulder, giving him better access to the laces, while also revealing a pale patch of bare skin on the back of her neck. Diaval glanced at it, momentarily distracted. A brief image flashed in his head where his lips pressed on that triangle of skin, but he quickly waved it away. He moved his eyes downwards, concentrating on the strings.

When the corset finally became loose enough, Diaval helped Aurora lift it over her head, allowing her to toss it heavily on the floor. She breathed deeply for the first time in hours.

"I feel so much better now," she mumbled, "feel like I could run miles."

"Best to not, lest you want the kingdom to think madness runs in the royal family's blood."

Diaval bit his tongue immediately. He had his foot so far down his throat at this point he wondered if he would ever walk correctly again. He noticed Aurora smiled, but her eyes said differently. She leapt onto her bed, facedown.

"How did he come back, Diaval?"

He took a seat on the large wooden chest at the end of her bed and folded his hands, contemplating his answer.

"Honestly, I don't know. He didn't look like himself, he was in another man's body, some large brutish blonde, but he still acted and sounded like Stefan. The woman he was with too, she looked like someone who knew what she was doing. She must have helped bring him back."

"Yes, Ravenna was it? I remember the court speaking about someone by that name. They said that she was at war with another kingdom, that if she won she would certainly come here next."

"You don't seem too interested in a possible threat to your country." Aurora groaned and flipped over on her back, lying starfish in the middle of her bed.

"I thought it was all poppycock," she protested, becoming defensive. "The court making up lies to scare me out of my throne. I never thought it could be true. Besides, I've never heard of this 'Ravenna' woman before. If she really was so all-powerful, I think we would have heard about her before. "

"Maleficent's powerful, and you never heard of her before this year." The girl frowned.

"Touché."

The two stayed like that for a moment, Aurora in her underdress, breathing deeply as she stared at her burgundy canopy, and Diaval sitting a few feet away, gazing upon her as an aesthete does a painting. Eventually, even Diaval realized that social customs dictated a break in the silence.

"I take it you've finished crying?" he asked, wondering if that was an inappropriate thing to say.

"I haven't decided yet," she replied, remembering the warmth his body offered, how indescribably _good_ it felt to be within his arms. She wondered if his arms specifically made her feel this way, or if any person with a tight enough grip could offer the same feeling.

"Well, you let me know if you need me again," he said, regretting the words. Did they connote too much? Did it label him as simply an object to cry on? Did it make him sound irritated? He certainly wasn't irritated; he would take the opportunity to embrace her in a heartbeat, if only on better circumstances. Why was he overthinking this?

 _I need you_ , she nearly said. The words had bubbled straight from her heart to her mouth without even acknowledging her head. The audacity. Thank heavens her lips had the common sense to stay shut.

They again elapsed into silence, but Diaval did not know what to say to break it. Frankly, he found contentment in just being with her, watching her rest. But, the longer he gazed at her, so peaceful and innocent in her loose, cream white gown, the more his thoughts began to stray to places they shouldn't. He imagined himself lying next to her on that great bed, at first just clasping each other's hand, chaste enough; then, he imagined her clinging to his side, one leg hiked up over his, his pale arm wrapped around her delicate shoulders; his vision wavered and all of the sudden he was on top of her, one hand supporting himself with the other cupping her cheek, guiding her lips on his −

He stood up abruptly from the chest and walked to her vanity, keeping his head down to avoid seeing her reflection in the large, silver mirror. He picked up one of her silver utensils, a paintbrush-looking thing, with bristles of a whitish-yellow hue. He turned it over in his hands, fascinated with its incredible shine.

"It's for make-up," Aurora explained, smiling as she observed his fascination.

"Hmm," Diaval answered, not really listening. "Wait, what?"

"For make-up, to make me paler and cover up blemishes."

"Why would you need to be paler? You look beautiful the way you are."

Aurora blushed. Every day, her handmaidens and servants, the greasy members of the court, and her betrothed, Prince Phillip, they all called her beautiful. One of the consequences of the Gift of Beauty, she presumed. But for some reason, when Diaval said it, it meant more. He knew her before she became royalty and held the power of two kingdoms, before she wore richly colored silks and velvets, and before she had an entire staff dedicated to her adornment. He thought her beautiful at her most raw, just _her_ with no powders or jewels to speak of.

She flipped back onto her stomach and smiled at him. He felt himself blush, and quickly turned so she wouldn't see. He messed with her utensils once more, waiting for the redness to fade. He plucked a squat cylindrical dish from a stack of other, similar cylinders.

"And what is this?" he asked, showing it to her.

"It's for the lips," she explained, getting up and reaching out for it. He passed her the container, and she deftly popped the lid off, revealing the strawberry colored grease inside. She dabbed her little finger in the jar and began applying it. "It gives them color. Makes them soft."

She smiled at him, her lips a delicious ladybug red, like Maleficent's, but less severe and more… sensual. They certainly did look soft. He wondered…

"Do you mind if I get a glass of water?" he asked suddenly. He needed to get away, to think about how he would pass the time without becoming… distracted.

"Um, no, by all means," she answered, taken aback by his random request.

He quickly bolted out the door with a fleeting, "I'll be right back", thrown in her direction.

Left alone once again, she huffed loudly before flopping back on her bed.


	7. Something Wicked This Way Comes

_Something Wicked This Way Comes_

Ravenna lost count long ago of how many kingdoms she'd taken over, but she supposed if she really wanted to know she need only count the Grimoires she collected along the way. In fact, Ravenna made it a habit that, upon securing a new land, she visit the reigning sorceress, kill her, absorb her power, and then loot her hovel of any magical items of value, including, but not limited to, her Grimoire. Every witch had something new to offer in her Grimoire, as the book carried an entire lineage of magical history and spells. So, when stumped as to how she would help King Stefan regain his kingdom, she did as any enterprising female would, and consulted her library of magic.

Physical transfiguration spells were common; every Grimoire held some variation of the basic human to cat, human to toad, human to mouse, etc spells (surprisingly, there were no spells dictating reversals). However, she could not find one incantation or elixir that created changes in paradigm. She needn't change the actual timeline of events, thankfully, as she had no idea how; she merely needed to change how people remembered them.

She knew the raven held the key; the magic that allowed a creature to change its form freely could easily be manipulated to create a transfiguration potion, but applying the changes to the mind rather than the body would require some creativity.

She twirled the black feather between her fingers.

 _I guess the first step is to find the damn thing,_ she thought.

Ravenna opened a cupboard in her cellar potions room, the same room she resurrected Stefan in, and pulled out a wide, shallow bronze dish. Setting it on the table, she poured an inch of water and waited for it to settle. Standing over it, she closed her eyes and mumbled some words in an ancient language, something soft and whistling, like a breath over a glass bottle. When she opened her eyes, the water lost some of its sheen, appearing more matte and cloudy. She dropped the black feather into the pool and counted the ripples; _one, two, three… twenty-six,_ the number of kilometers. When the ripples ended, she observed where the leaf drifted. It now rested on the edge of the bowl closest to her, indicating direction.

 _Twenty-six kilometers to the south_ , she thought, smiling. _Closer than I'd hoped._

She closed her eyes again and resumed muttering the same whistling tone as before. She needed to know what form the shape shifter currently wore to find him more easily. Just as she felt the power begin to flow, the sound of heavy boots shook her concentration.

"Ravenna?" called a familiar voice.

 _Stefan._ She quickly plucked the feather from the dish, sticking it in her robe pocket before dashing to the exit. She opened the door just a crack, slipped through, and then firmly shut it behind her.

"Ah, there you are," Stefan said, stopping his march down the stone stairs. "What's in that room?"

"Ah, just the vegetable cellar." Stefan could barely remember the night of his reawakening, citing it as being foggy, like a hangover. Ravenna preferred it that way. If he knew about her blasphemous hobby, she knew he would never trust her. She decided it was best to keep him in the dark as long as possible.

" _You're_ checking the vegetable cellar?" he asked, incredulous. She didn't look like a woman made for housework. Perhaps some needlepoint, an instrument even, but Stefan considered her far too pretty (and powerful) for domestic work. "Don't you have people for that?"

"Yes, well, can't trust them. If you want something done right…" she began, giving a slight laugh, hoping to end the conversation.

"Perhaps you need new people then?" He suggested.

"Actually, I was just thinking that. Do you mind fetching my coachman? I think I'll go out tomorrow to find new help."

"Tomorrow?" he asked, startled. "So soon?"

"No time like the present." She started up the stairs, nearly passing Stefan before noticing his awkwardness. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I forgot. You came down to see me?"

"Em, yes," he started, feeling slightly uncomfortable with her closeness. They stood on the same step, him with his back against the wall to keep them from touching, and even then it was difficult. "The tailor asked which color I wanted…?"

He held up a few swaths of richly colored fabric; a smoky blue-gray, a deep pine green, a shimmering royal purple, and a blood red wool. She observed them all before looking back at him through her eyelashes.

"Well, which one do you want?"

"I– well I – I don't really mind either way, but I thought I would consult the, ah, expert's opinion."

"Expert? Are you complementing my dress?" Ravenna asked, smiling coyly. Stefan faltered.

"I em – well, I just thought that maybe–"

"Go with the gray," she interrupted softly, turning to continue up the stairs, "it will bring out your lovely blue eyes. Avoid green. It reminds me too much of the former inhabitant of this body."

"Actually, about that," Stefan cleared his throat, "I wanted to ask you… will I always be in this body? Is it… permanent, or can I eventually reclaim my old body?"

Ravenna stopped in her ascent, and turned to him. He spoke again, faster, becoming anxious under the heat of her gaze.

"Not that I am ungrateful to you for returning me to this world, it's just that, this body is still so foreign to me. There are still so many things that are different. I mean, this," he reached behind his head and pulled a long, blonde lock to show her, "And this new height, I keep knocking things over!"

He was about to mention something else when he heard the small voice in the back of his head whisper: _Don't tell her about me. She can't know about me._ He cleared his throat.

"But really, Ravenna, I miss my old self. I miss being _me_."

Ravenna looked at him with sad, pitying eyes.

"I'm sorry Stefan, but your true body is far too broken to bring back to life, I cannot return you to it. This will be your body from now on. But, no matter the form you take, you will always be the same Stefan inside, where it counts."

She put her hand on his cheek, moving her silken palm across his scruff. She moved it back, passing over the soft flesh behind his ear, and gently twirled a tuft of blond hair.

"I can arrange for a barber, if you wish," she suggested in a hushed whisper. Stefan felt his skin prickle. It took everything for him to not close his eyes and sigh, like a dog, at her touch.

"That would be nice," he murmured.

"Lovely," she said, and let him go. "Fetch my coachman please, I set off tomorrow."

"To procure new help?" he asked, slightly dazed. She paused, momentarily forgetting her cover story.

"Yes, that," she replied before reaching the summit of the stairs and heading off to pack for the journey.

The Moorfolk did not take Maleficent's news of Stefan's return well. They remembered well the long, sleepless nights when Stefan's armies attempted to break the thorn walls with flaming catapults. They remembered those lost defending the lands from Stefan and Henry's armies. What's more, they witnessed firsthand the unimaginable pain their leader, the great Maleficent, endured at his hand. Her cries of anguish at finding her wings severed at the hand of her lover reverberated throughout the earth. Sixteen years of suffering was enough.

Furthermore, the Moorland creatures did not wish to return to a state of isolation. Though they understood why Maleficent built the walls, and held genuine gratitude for her foresight, they did not enjoy living in confinement.

After breaking the news at another emergency meeting, and receiving exactly the hysteria she expected, Maleficent attempted to reassure her constituents. However, she had no idea how to, as she had no plan of action yet. Instead, she gave a powerful speech where she promised she would "think of something" to protect their lands and banish King Stefan for good, but after several hours of planning in her tree home, she still had nothing.

She sat on a low-lying branch with a long, sturdy stick in her hand drawing plans in the dirt. She already told the tree warriors to be on alert for human activity near the border, instructing them to admit no visitors, save Aurora. She considered reconstructing the wall of thorns, but feared it would make the human's suspicious, and she didn't want to draw attention. A part of her wanted to believe Diaval was wrong, that he hadn't seen what he'd seen and it was all a giant misunderstanding. But she knew better. Aside from the fact that Diaval would never lie or give information on a hunch, he was incredibly proud and detested being wrong. No, Stefan had definitely returned.

 _Perhaps just grow thorns in a few places,_ she thought, _by the northern edge, where the Moors end and the Dark Forest begins._ She drew a zigzag on her dirt map to visualize the thought before brushing it away again.

 _No, it's too soon,_ she decided. _It will make everyone anxious, including myself_. Besides, the date of Stefan's return remained completely unknown; it could be tomorrow or next year; she had no idea. Maleficent decided that if and when Stefan returned, she would put the walls up for protection, and they would stay up until they could vanquish him, once and for all.

She drew a new circle on the ground to represent the Moors, and then drew smaller circles around the line, like beads on a necklace, to represent the tree warriors. She drew another line to represent the cobblestone road to the village, then she drew a large rectangle to represent Aurora's castle.

Upon completing the drawing, she began to think of Aurora and her preparations. _Was_ she doing any preparations? Maleficent thought Aurora might find it difficult to do anything; half the humans had a sour relationship with magic, believing it devil worship, while the other half didn't believe in it at all. In addition, the Court already disliked Aurora's rule; thus having her go to them and announce King Stefan's return via magical resurrection would only have them doubt her even more. Worst-case scenario, they could remove her from office for an inability to preform her duties.

She thought it might be best for Aurora to handle this quietly. With Diaval, the one creature to have seen the new Stefan and his witch Queen, Ravenna, Aurora had adequate protection for the time being. He could alert her if they ever did arrive at the castle, and could then have them quietly pushed over a bridge.

 _What if we took care of this before they ever arrived? Take the offensive for once,_ she thought. It would be easier. It would probably be safer too, to strike first. They knew where Stefan and Ravenna resided; they could sneak up on them in the dead of night, they'd never see it coming…

Maleficent shook her head. To make the first move, to _attack_ rather than _defend_ went completely against the Moorland Manifesto of peace. To change that now seemed wrong. Plus, as far as she could tell, Stefan's main target was _her_. Thus, Maleficent would feel selfish if she broke centuries of defense-based peace keeping just to protect herself from her crazy ex. No, they definitely would not make the first move.

She looked at her crude drawing once more, contemplating a second line of defense, perhaps some sort of a ditch, when she heard a soft voice and a light buzzing of wings.

"Ah, Maleficent?" It asked. The fairy looked up to see Knotgrass, one of Aurora's former "caretakers". She looked nervous, wringing her hands together and making better eye contact with the ground that the woman in front of her. Rather than grace the pixie with an answer, Maleficent simply raised one dangerously sharp eyebrow.

"I know we didn't do the best job raising Aurora, and I regret that, I do. But, it would be impossible after all that time to not care about her wellbeing. I do worry about her, living up in that castle surrounded by strangers, and now with this news, I find my fears doubled."

Maleficent watched her, her gaze unwavering as the pixie's eyebrows knotted together and she chewed her tiny bottom lip. Knotgrass's eyes returned to the ground once more as the power of Maleficent's green-eyed stare became too much.

"I guess what I am trying to say is, if you need any help, I'm here. I can't do much, my magic is limited you know, but I can be a courier, or a watchman. The other pixies feel the same way, too."

Maleficent gave her a solemn nod. "Thank you, I will remember that."

Knotgrass met her gaze once more, gave her a quick nod, and then flew away.


	8. Behind the Veil

_Behind the Veil_

Diaval found the Royal Court far worse than the distrusting and greasy creatures Aurora described; greedy, apathetic, selfish scum and disrespectful to boot. He had half a mind to fly over their heads and drop little white bird bombs over the lot of them. But he kept hidden, high above in the window alcove of the throne room. Aurora explained that he could pose as a servant if he wished, but he declined, saying he would rather watch as a crow from above than be constantly pushed about doing mundane errands. Only Maleficent (and Aurora, he thought later) could tell him what to do.

Aurora sat with perfect posture in a singular throne at the head of the room. Even in layers upon layers of rich fabrics and fur, she looked small in the wide, cushioned seat, like a child trying on her mother's shoes. Still, she sat tall and stoic, trying extremely hard to appear effortlessly regal. She and her advisors were a few steps above the rest of the court, on a small, plateaued area in front of two great windows interwoven with metal.

Her servants had quickly dressed her in an incredibly gaudy lavender gown minutes before the Appeals Court. She had completely forgotten about the event and was only reminded during a surprise visit from Prince Phillip. Diaval watched her squirm minutely in the ridiculous costume praxis forced her to wear. But it was more than that, he thought; she didn't just wear the costume, she lived the character. Like an actress she had to speak it, breathe it, _be_ it at all hours. Unfortunately, she failed miserably, at least in the eyes of those who truly knew her. Diaval could sense her discomfort, but to anyone else, she just seemed focused on the speaker in front of her.

"Please," continued the man. He wore a beige tunic that had clearly seen better days, but appeared freshly laundered for the occasion. The man himself appeared clean as well, but one could spot the evidence of his profession from his tanned skin and the permanent black beneath his nails. His hair, thick and nearly black, stretched back into a small bun on the nape of his neck, allowing one to fully see the pleading in his eyes and the nervous sweat on his brow. Even Diaval, several feet above them, could see this and took it all as evidence to the man's honesty.

"The flooding destroyed my crops; acres of wheat and barley have rotted on the stalk. Even my small patches of strawberries have turned to mush. I have nothing left; I am sorry my Queen, but I cannot pay my taxes this year. Please, grant me an extension; the weather is beyond my control."

To her right, a scrawny man with thinning gray hair bent down to whisper in her ear:

"This is the third year in a row he has used this excuse. We cannot grant him any more extensions, your highness."

"But this is the third year in a row that area has flooded," she countered. Diaval watched the thin man roll his eyes. Aurora's eyes narrowed slightly at the gesture, but she said nothing.

"Perhaps he should have taken more preventative measures then,"

"Pray tell what would these measures be?" The advisor grew annoyed now, but hid it behind a delicately patronizing tone.

"Well, if he could just move his crops out from the flood land, or build a dam, perhaps a ditch to collect the water— "

"Move his crops where exactly? He _lives_ on that land. And with what funds would he build a dam or a ditch? You said this is his third year of bad crops; he can barely support himself. Perhaps it is time _we_ took some preventative measures to help _everyone_ living in that valley." Diaval had to admit she made a good point. It could use more tact, but still. The advisor clearly did not take her shooting down his idea very well.

" _We_ ," he replied, in a slightly mocking tone that, once again, Aurora ignored, "will not have the funds for a public works project like this if _you_ keep granting tax exemptions to our subjects. Word will get around about your," he sneered, " _generosity_ and our subjects will be make baseless excuses left and right as to why they cannot pay."

"But this man's excuse is a legitimate one. Preceding my coronation I lived on a farm and can vouch for the horrid rain we have experienced the past three years."

"It is because of your _upbringing_ that I feel you do not fully understand political matters such as this yet, my Queen. You are still thinking from the mind of the one and not the many. Perhaps Prince Phillip can shed some light for you." Aurora's eyes hardened as the advisor straightened up, smiled, and beckoned for Phillip to come over.

Phillip sat askew on a chair a few paces to the left of Aurora, whispering to his manservant. He'd clearly been caught in the middle of telling an amusing story, according to the smiles on both of their faces. Diaval watched the Prince's movement's, the casual flick of his wrist, his cool half grin, envying his easy style and sophistication, his dashing appearance and natural charm. Diaval wondered if fairies gifted him with these things as Aurora had been gifted.

Phillip, hands clasped behind his back, arrived next to Aurora shortly. The advisor explained the situation, bending the story greatly to benefit his opinion of course, and, as expected, Phillip agreed wholeheartedly with him. Aurora frowned, beaten; two opinions against her own. Sadly, she explained the situation to the farmer in front of her. Her words destroyed his calm faster than the floods did his crops. His mouth gaped like a fish as he tried to further explain himself.

"But my Queen, I do not think you understand, everything is gone. I have nothing, nothing even to feed my own family," he pleaded. Aurora saw his knees shaking as he became hysterical. "Please, please, you must grant this to me!"

The advisor glanced at the Queen and saw how much the man's cries affected her. He knew she was on the verge of breaking and he couldn't have that. As soon as the people thought the monarchy had gone soft they'd ask for political representation, sharing of wealth, decreased taxes; he _certainly_ wouldn't have that, not on his watch. Rolling his eyes again at the Queen's incompetency, he intervened, stepping in front of Aurora to give his own decree.

"She cannot and will not grant you another extension. You failed to pay taxes for the past two years and you admit to failure again this year. When the tax collector comes next week he will take from your assets the sum of this year due as well as the past two years' overdue. If your possessions do not cover this sum, he will arrest you for inability to pay your debts."

A look of horror washed over the farmer's face as realization hit him. He knew he did not have possessions valuable enough to cover his debt. He would certainly go to prison, leaving his family in absolute poverty.

"Is there any other way?" the man croaked. The advisor smiled a greasy, snake-like smile. His liver spots wrinkled together as his mouth spread slicing into the rest of his face. Diaval would sneer back if his beak allowed it.

"How many children do you have?"

"Six," he muttered softly, hesitantly.

"Six? Why, that is enough to spare. I'm sure if you offer up one of your sons or daughters to servitude in the castle some of your debt may be absolved." Aurora's eyes hardened even more. They looked like ice now, frozen in little globes of snow. Phillip, still standing by her, looked sullen at this idea as well, but by no means argued it. Unlike the woman next to him, he understood how the world worked, accepted it, and moved on.

Aurora couldn't take it anymore.

"No."

The advisor turned around, confused at what he heard.

"You heard what I said. I will not have you forcing children into slavery. It's barbaric." She dropped her voice lower so just her advisor could hear. "And you think I'm the uncivilized one."

The room was silent. The farmer went from a trembling mess to stock-still. Diaval could barely breath, the air was so thick.

"My Queen, this is the way debtors have been dealt with for the past century,"

"It is time for a new tradition then,"

"Then what is your sentence?" Asked the weasely man, expecting her to fumble. But Aurora had royalty in her blood. She'd been taught by the best, Maleficent, and she had a plan.

"Community service," she said, loud enough for all to hear. "Work on your fields this summer, produce what you can and prepare for what may come next year. This winter you must donate a portion of your time to community service projects set up by the court."

The farmer did not respond at first, so shocked at her outburst. Then, after her words sunk in he fell to his knees.

"Oh thank you, thank you!" he cried, becoming hysterical. "You will not be disappointed, my Queen!"

The advisor, extremely bitter, made a motion to the guards, who took the man by his elbows and escorted him out, still calling praises. Phillip turned his head and gazed at Aurora in confusion and wonder. She was still so mysterious to him, so different than any other princess or noblewoman he'd met. Perhaps that's what made her so attractive to him, her mystique. Aurora never met his gaze; she continued looking straight ahead, trying not to smile. High up in the rafters, Diaval could see the sparkle in her eyes and the slight curl in the corners of her lips. She was proud of herself, and so was he.

Triumph was short lived, as the court had far more cases to review today. Phillip returned to his chair, the next issue walked through the door, and the entire court reset.

Diaval couldn't watch any longer; he hopped out the window and took a few laps around the castle, checking the parameter as the humans hashed out their troubles with blood and gold. He could not imagine a man asking another to sell his child into slavery to absolve his own dept. The idea sounded just too horrific; to use your flesh and blood to settle taxes. Were all humans this greedy, this barbaric? Obviously Aurora was the exception. She was always the exception when it came to Humans. Funny, how she defies mankind's terrible rules when she came from the flesh of the man who epitomized them.

A few hours later, and after catching a few beetles for dinner, he returned to the window to see the Aurora, Phillip, and the rest of the court enjoying their evening meal. Aurora sat next to Phillip at the high table, making small talk with him as the advisors bickered at their sides. At first, Diaval was happy to see them finally talking. He thought that perhaps it would give Aurora some peace of mind about their relationship, but then he noticed Phillip doing most of the talking. Aurora simply gave him an occasional nod or hum to remind him she was still there. Judging by his hand movements, it was the same story he told his manservant earlier.

 _Find a new story,_ Diaval thought spitefully.

He watched as Aurora attempted to covertly pick at her dress. Phillip noticed of course and asked her if she was all right, to which she smiled and replied that she was perfectly fine. A lie. Diaval wondered if she lied to him often and why she just didn't tell him the truth. Weren't couples supposed to practice honesty?

He also wondered, as he watched her pick at her dress again, this time more covertly than before, how quickly after all this was over she would try to get that hideous purple mess off of her. He wondered still if she would ask him to help again. He hoped she didn't. Not only would he have the worst trouble figuring out how to dismantle that monstrosity, he wanted to avoid any more inappropriate thoughts.

 _She is your daughter,_ he reminded himself, only to have another voice, much smaller than the previous one say, _but not really._

Rather than stick around and watch the humans eat, he took another lap around the castle before returning to Aurora's room and awaiting her return.

Stefan rose blissfully after sunrise, happy to wake with a natural light through the filmy curtains than a harsh knocking at his chamber door. This morning he retained more of his now reoccurring dream; the girl's name, the one with the chestnut hair and tear in her dress, it was Sarah. It sounded strangely familiar, yet oddly new, like a word repeated so many times it's lost it's meaning.

 _Sarah…Sarah,_ he tossed it around in his head a few more times. Perhaps it would come to him over breakfast.

He splashed cool water on his face and dressed himself once again in the same clothes as yesterday. The tailor promised the first batch by tomorrow, claiming he'd have all the seamstresses working on it through the night. Truly he didn't mind whether he received them tomorrow or next week, only Ravenna seemed to care. He liked his tunic and leather vest; every inch felt broken-in and soft, covering his body with a cozy and familiar sensation he hadn't felt since before his coronation.

Lumbering downstairs he found Ravenna's brother, Finn, sitting at the table, bruised and unclean, brooding over his porridge. His hair hung limply, a sickly shade of blonde, nearly white in the morning dishwater light, like the glowing of a dog's eyes at night. Upon Stefan's entrance, Finn looked up, grimacing.

"Good morning," Stefan said, good-naturedly. He noticed the fresh cut over Finn's left eye was missing. He swore he saw it yesterday, but today it had vanished.

"Morning," Finn replied with significantly less cheer, a. A serious expression of distaste darkened his otherwise pale face.

"I take it you had a rough night," Stefan tried, attempting to make conversation. Ravenna's brother seemed the odd, moody type; quiet, but with a hint of danger; someone to watch out for.

Finn hummed, "You have no idea."

 _Sounds like an invitation to ask,_ thought Stefan as a servant placed his breakfast in front of him, followed by a cup of tea. He dropped a spoonful of honey into the cup, stirring as he looked expectantly at the other man.

"Give me an idea." Finn grinned. Stefan didn't like it. It seemed friendly enough but, upon closer inspection, the eyes held oceans of malice. It was a cat's grin, used to make one feel at ease before they pounced. He felt suddenly glad for the space between them.

"I spent my night in the Dark Forest searching for an escaped prisoner," he began, locking his hands together. "Some of my men didn't even make it beyond the tree line, as their horses sunk into the mires along the outskirts. Unfortunately we could not recover them."

Stefan stopped stirring his tea and put his spoon down.

"We had to continue on foot, as the terrain proved too treacherous for our mounts to safely navigate. We stumbled through yards of bracken, scratched our way through skeletal trees, slogged through countless mudded brooks before arriving right back where we started."

Stefan coughed before saying, "It sounds like you need a new tracker."

"Our tracker went down in the mires. I led the expedition after his demise." Stefan swallowed thickly. Then, the voice in his head spoke up:

 _You've been in the Dark Forest before,_ it said.

"I've been in the Dark Forest before," Stefan repeated aloud. The voice in his head continued, guiding his response. "If you ever needed any help, I'd be happy to oblige."

Finn did not see the friendliness in Stefan's offer. He took it as an insult, as Stefan viewing him as unable to do the job. Ravenna already ripped him a new one last night, screaming over his incompetency. He didn't need any more emasculating dashes at his instrumentality.

"I'll be sure to," he replied in a soft voice but a hard tone, losing the grin but keeping those menacing eyes locked on Stefan. He pushed himself from the table and quietly exited the room, leaving half of his breakfast uneaten.

Trying to talk to Finn proved awkward enough, but the awkwardness increased tenfold once he left. It didn't help that he had at least five witnesses to the failed conversation in the form of servants. And servants talk. Boy, did he know servants talked; he used to be one. That got him thinking.

Casting a glance behind him, he beckoned for the girl who served him earlier. She scurried to his side and leaned down to hear his request.

"Have you breakfasted already, my dear?" She was startled by the question.

"Um, no," she answered, "servants eat after their masters."

"Well, I am not your master. I am merely a guest in this house, whose title is quite unknown at this point, so I'd say that since Finn is finished, it is time for the servants to eat."

"You want us to eat with you?" The girl asked, feeling confused and frankly, rather stupid. "But, she calls you 'King'."

"It is true, I once held that name, and while I hope to regain my throne and hold that name again, I don't hold it now. So, it is quite all right for you and any others to eat with me. Besides," he added, almost as an afterthought, "before I took the crown I was a lowly servant, just like you."

He smiled, and she smiled back, revealing two brilliant dimples.

Within twenty minutes the entire dining hall filled with servants from every quarter of the castle, slurping on porridge and tea as they talked. Stefan leaned back in his chair and listened to the buzz of conversation. He needn't ask nor prompt; he knew they would talk about their masters soon enough. Like magic, he picked up the vibrations of the Queen's name on someone's lips.

"Ravenna's been sending an awful lot of mail to England lately," said one girl to another through a mouthful of porridge. "Poor Nathaniel's barely been home, he's been on the road so often delivering her letters."

"Who are they going to?" asked the other.

"Some man named Edward,"

"That's a very ordinary name. Perhaps she's buying something from him?"

"It may be an ordinary name, but I doubt he's an ordinary person. Arthur handles all the delivery men anyway, restocking and such."

Stefan leaned forward, frowning. _Who was this_ Edward _, and what is he doing talking to Ravenna?_

"Besides, how would that woman know what to order? She's never been in the pantry or the food cellar. All she ever does is sit in that basement room, or talk to her mirror."

"Sad really, isn't it?" The other girl hummed her agreement and they both took a sip of tea.

Stefan tuned out. That's what he got for gossiping and eavesdropping, things he didn't want to hear.

Edward. The mystery man. He'd have to do some snooping, find out what this is all about. He just couldn't believe she would act the way she did around him, touching him, batting her impossibly long eyelashes, whispering so her breath tickled his skin… and then be seeing another man on the side. Or, was he the one on the side?

Then she lied about where she was going. Not that she had any obligation to let him know her travel plans, but still, blatantly lying to him? Where had she gone then? Did she leave to see Edward?

 _I told you not to trust her,_ the voice whispered at him.

"I know," he whispered back, freezing when he realized he'd spoken aloud.

Grabbing his tea, he leaned back in his chair and just listened to the dull buzzing of conversation as he plotted. Somewhere deep inside of him, a consciousness sat, carefully hidden in the labyrinth of Stefan's psyche. The being felt the bonds that separated him from his body weaken; he tested them, grasped the bars and tugged. They shook.


	9. An Uninvited Guest

_An Uninvited Guest_

 _What a bleak morning for travel_ , Ravenna thought as her black carriage squelched over a muddied path through the countryside. It rained again the night before, nothing torrential, but enough to hinder her travel. Her driver had already stopped twice now to dig himself out of potholes. The quicksand-like mud didn't help their progress either.

Her maps indicated that the closest civilization twenty-six kilometers to the south was, not surprisingly, Stefan's kingdom. Fate, she decided, had a funny way of working things out.

Unfortunately, her trip would take longer than she thought. Twenty-six miles by carriage usually took a little over four hours, but that twenty-six miles constituted the exact distance between the two kingdoms. If she went the direct route, she would have to cut straight through the Dark Forest, an obvious no go, so instead she took a ten-mile detour around the forest. Adding that on, with luck she should reach the kingdom by midday.

Usually on long trips she brought a book to stave off boredom, however this time she chose to go without. Instead, Ravenna let her mind wander to the conundrum at hand; how to alter the memories of Stefan's subjects so he might reclaim his place as King. Thinking, she looked out her window; the countryside held little in the realm of scenery, unless one enjoyed watching dirty water collect in puddles and vegetation droop with humidity, much like her hair.

 _It looks like the fields will flood again this year_ , she thought miserably. This will be the third year in a row the crops rot in their stalks. It may not be too late to replant, she thought, perhaps the farmers could dig a grid of trenches around their plants to collect the excess water. Just then, an idea struck her like divine lightening.

Why change the memory when she could just implant a new one?

Slowly, she smiled. Change is difficult, but learning something new? Easy.

For some time Aurora entertained the illusion that life as a King or Queen would be easy; with an endless supply of money, resources, and labor, as well as a team of advisors and a bureaucracy to practically run the country, what was a King or Queen but a title, a figure head? Royals just sat there and drank tea all day, wore fancy clothes, gossiped, and caused drama.

How wrong she had been. Money, resources, and labor had not proved as endless as she imagined, and in fact she could see the bottom of the barrel more often than she liked. The advisors and bureaucracy in place did try to run her country for her—on a burning chariot straight into the ground. Both teams were inefficient. Their constant squabbling and grasping for power put most political decision making into frustrating, tangled gridlock. Corruption infected the ranks like termites, tunneling a lattice into the system, threatening its moral and physical integrity. She felt like a parent, constantly reminding her children of right and wrong, only to have them roll their eyes, turn around, and do it all over again.

On this particular day, the castle functioned on the precipice of disaster, per usual, and Aurora scrambled to pull it from the edge. The new prep cook nearly started a fire in the kitchen (the old prep cook had run off with the milkmaid, which reminded Aurora, she needed to find a new milkmaid), and while Chef managed to put it out, it had cost him tonight's chickens, as well as his eyebrows. The castle fire brigade usually handles fires, as they are more common than one might think, but they were unavailable at the time, as Aurora sent them out earlier to handle a brush fire headed towards the Moors.

 _Flooding in one valley, fires in another, it never ends_ , she thought. Either way, Aurora had to figure out what they would serve tonight (stew, she later decided, as a way to use up leftover vegetables and meat), and had to gather servants to help clean the soot and ash from the kitchen so preparations for tonight could begin. Just as she began this, another crisis occurred with the seamstresses. After a little begging, Aurora convinced Diaval to handle it for her.

A few minutes later, just as the servants began making headway in the kitchen, a young maid scurried up to her and whispered breathlessly in her ear:

"My lady, a guest has arrived. She claims to be a neighboring Queen!"

Aurora's eyes went wide. She could not receive guests today; she simply was not prepared for it. She didn't have the linens for it, not after the fire in the laundry room last week, and she still wore her house clothes, not nearly presentable—

The maid tugged her hand, deciding for her whether or not she would accept a guest today.

Ravenna stepped out of her carriage on to wonderfully dry ground, taking her coachman's hand so as not to stumble. She wore one of her best travel dresses, a silvery grey number with black lace flowers on the sleeves. She wore a more subdued crown for this visit, not the heavy silver thorns she so favored; she didn't want to overshadow her host; impressions were everything.

Moments later the castle door burst open with a small, blonde girl holding its handle. Ravenna first suspected it that it was the maid, which struck her as odd first because the doorman should open doors, not the maid, and secondly because the girl stared straight at her and grinned broadly. Servants never looked directly at their masters, and certainly not Queens. Ravenna narrowed her eyes, and then noticed the light colored eyes and gently sloping nose, the high cheekbones and slender face, all traits reminiscent of a certain fallen King. Of course, the delicate gold crown partially hidden by her yellow locks was also gave her away; this was no maid, but the Queen Aurora herself, tempered with a glisten of sweat on her brow and black smudges on her arms.

"Welcome!" the girl shouted enthusiastically, walking briskly to meet her guest. Ravenna chuckled internally. It was quite the welcome for one who was plotting her demise. "How wonderful to finally meet our neighbor from the north! I am the Queen Aurora."

"And I the Queen Regina," she replied, giving a false name, "I do hope my stay is not a hindrance to you, I am just passing through and need a place to rest."

"No trouble at all, I shall have a room made for you immediately. But first, I'm sure you're famished from your travels, let me treat you to tea."

The two women, as well as several ladies of the court who'd heard about the visiting Queen, congregated outside for tea, as Aurora did not wish her guest to see the mess inside. The servants literally ran about in a mad rush to have everything orderly for Regina's stay. During the sixty minutes the nobility used to lounge outdoors and gossip, the castle turned into a beehive, with the hum of frantic activity masked by the calm façade of cold stone walls.

Far away, in the southern end of the castle, Diaval sat on the floor in the laundry room, one man in a circle of middle-aged women. Surrounding the circle were a hundred spindles, each wound with miles of spidery white thread. Earlier, a short, plump woman by the name of Ethel slipped on a loose scrap of linen and sent the load of thread she'd been carrying flying. The strings became senselessly tangled, and Diaval decided the only way to sort out the mess was to stop and untangle them manually. Still uncomfortable interacting with human strangers, he shyly told the women his plan, and after observing their quiet unraveling for a moment, joined them on the floor. Honestly, he found the mindless unknotting of string rather relaxing, and while it was not enjoyable per se, it beat flying circles around the castle, eyeing suspicious-looking butterflies and whatnot.

"Say, um…" A woman spoke up. Diaval looked up and found she was referring to him. "What's your name deary?"

"Diaval," the singular male inserted politely.

"Diaval, where did you get those scars? The one right there," she traced a crescent on the side of her face right outside her eye, "looks rather nasty."

"I was attacked by a dog as a child," he answered, partially truthful. The women all _oh_ 'ed around him.

"That's awful," continued the one who'd asked the question. "I'll tell you, my husband said he wants a dog, but I told him, 'not in this house your not'," The woman said, turning from Diaval to speak to the group. "A dog is an animal and it's got to stay outside; can't have it dirtying up my house, attacking our children. Nope, I told him to keep it in the barn with the others if he wants it.

"I hear you Mathilda; my boys are at that age where they're bringing every creature that slithers, walks, or flies into the house, asking to keep it as a pet. And I tell them, 'what are you going to feed it? Where's it going to stay?' and they say…" and on and on and on. Diaval almost laughed at the mundanity of their human lives. If only they knew who he really was, and the fact that he himself had been a dog only yesterday morning.

Then his thoughts drifted as they always did to Aurora. This would be her life one day, making small talk with a bunch of old birds (he laughed internally at the idiom) about children and marital troubles. Is this what she wanted, or was it just an inevitable truth that all humans would end up this way, wrinkled and boring?

 _No_ , he thought, twisting two strings apart, she could never be like that. She had a heart for excitement, rule breaking, and fun. He remembered how in her youth she would regularly go against orders and venture to the thorny wall, peering inside, looking for a break in the branches

 _Always curious,_ he thought. He remembered her thirteen year, when Flittle decided to paint her bedroom blue; Aurora stole some of the paint and lacquered her finger and toenails, much to her "aunt's" chagrin. Then he recalled her many trips into the moors under the guise of a dream. The look of pure, innocent bliss on her face was enough to make even Maleficent's stony lips curl into a grin. _No_ , he thought again, _she could never become like these women, especially not after everything she's seen and been through._

He finished raveling the spool and placed it in the bin with the other spools. Looking at the mess around him, he sighed. It was going to be a long day.

Clumps of Monarch and Emperor butterflies formed hungry swarms over the tall lilac bushes edging the courtyard, but no ravens. Fat bumblebees swayed from daffodil to tulip, lazily pollinating in the afternoon heat, but no ravens. She heard a rabbit or a squirrel rustle in the bushes, but not a raven. A few pigeons lined the courtyard wall, with one or two magpies, but the ravens apparently did not get the memo. The hunt for the shape shifter was not going well.

Ravenna lazily stirred her cold tea, annoyed with her lack of progress. There no doubt were hundreds of black birds in this area, but she had yet to find one. How could she ever find _the_ raven if she couldn't find _any_ ravens?

Of course, the ladies of the court did not assist in her search by pestering her with questions and wide eyes. She felt like an animal on show, but played along all the same, lying through her teeth just to have them go away. After her novelty wore off and the ladies became contentedly distracted with other gossip, mainly concerning the teenage Queen, Ravenna leaned to whisper something to Aurora, who was sporting an obviously fake smile as she tried to ignore the other women talking about her

"Aurora," she drawled quietly, "does your castle happen to have a rookery?"

"Rookery?"

"Yes, it's a tower riddled with open windows for birds to roost. Bird watching is a bit of a hobby for me and I was just wondering if your rookery had any breeds I haven't seen yet," she explained.

"I'm sorry, I don't think we have that."

"Oh, well that's quite all right," Ravenna replied, not feeling "all right" at all.

"Is there anything else you would like to do during your stay?" Asked Aurora as a servant came by to collect their teacups.

"I would love a tour of the town. It looks so quaint and adorable; I've always wanted to see a little hamlet like this," Aurora's smile became tighter. Did this newcomer just insult the largest urban center in her kingdom?

"It would be my pleasure. I am always eager to show off my kingdom to newcomers."

The two agreed to meet in the castle foyer in an hour. Ravenna retired to her freshly made room and, after her coachman set her bags in place, she placed a trap in her window; some dried corn kernels placed under a cage triggered to drop. A simple enough contraption Finn showed her before she left. She hoped she could at least start her search this way.

Aurora already had a coach waiting when her guest eventually made it downstairs. While Ravenna usually agreed with separation of royalty and commoners, the only way she could identify the shape shifter was to sense the creature's magical aura, something she could not do behind carriage doors.

"Do you mind if we go on foot?" she asked politely. "I've just been riding in a carriage all day; I'd like to stretch my legs."

"Oh, of course," Aurora answered, surprised. Walking was her own preferred mode of transportation, but she knew how the ladies of the court hated it, viewing it as a cheap and dirty way to get around. Aurora agreed, it _was_ dirty, especially if one went barefoot like she did. If it wasn't for the insult earlier, Aurora might say she was beginning to like this Queen Regina; she liked animals and walking, two things Aurora loved too.

The pair set off, preceded and flanked by two soldiers each. Aurora showed Ravenna the large brick church where she'd been baptized and confirmed a few days ago; the law mandated that the ruling head of state be a member of the church in order to fully assume their powers. She mentioned how behind the church laid the graveyard, where the bulk of her kingdom's dead were buried, including her late father, the former king.

"I'm so sorry," Ravenna said, giving the designated polite response to such news. Internally she smiled. _If only she knew_.

Aurora pointed out a few more buildings and places, trivial things Ravenna oohed and aahed at while searching the sky. Before long they reached the center of town, a bustling intersection. A few vender's roamed close by their respective stalls, hawking their wares to anyone who came too close. Traffic was heavy this time of day, with farmers moving to and from their booths, transferring produce and goods. Mules and oxen brushed each other as they hauled heavy loads of precariously stacked purple radishes and rhubarb, deep green spinach, and early strawberries. In the middle of the square stood a large well, the old-fashioned stone circle, throw-a-bucket kind. Attached to a wooden beam lying over the stones were three thick ropes, with buckets presumably tied to the other end. Two young girls, not over ten years of age, giggled as they struggled to yank one rope up, bringing water home for their family.

"This is our main well, located right in the center of town. The water for the entire city and castle are all connected via underground tunnels," Aurora said proudly. "King Henry's grandfather installed the system several decades ago. It is quite sophisticated, modeled after the ancient Greeks."

Ravenna oohed over the system, then peered to the roofs of the houses. A few crows rested on a chimney, but they looked innocuous enough. She trudged on, half listening to Aurora jabber on about her ridiculously dull town as she kept a sharp lookout for iridescent, black-bodied birds.

The rest of the evening carried on much like the beginning of the evening. Ravenna saw few crows, and the ones she did see were one hundred percent garden-variety, non-magical vermin. The trap on her sill caught not a crow, but a rat, which disgusted her profusely. She tossed the poor creature off the ledge and watched it fall to the ground where it hit with a hideous, yet oddly satisfying _splat_.

Later that night, after a ship-wreck of a dinner, Ravenna retired to her room. Her trap had once again failed her, this time storing a nightjar, which she simply released, not having the energy to deal with it otherwise. From one of her bags she pulled her bronze scrying dish. Filling it with water, she repeated the whistling words from the day before and dropped the black feather into the glistening liquid. Like a compass needle, the feather began gently spinning in place, yet no ripples formed, not even a half ripple, if that was even possible. The spelled water remained impossibly calm, causing Ravenna to narrow her eyes.

 _He's here,_ she thought with a sly little grin. _Right here in the castle. Just have to find him._


	10. Marked

_Marked_

Ravenna stayed up a long portion of the night searching every inch of the castle she could looking for that goddamned shape shifter. She turned over every rock outside, checked under ever chair and cushion, and even stuck her head up a few fireplaces. She ventured to the cellar with a candle, scattering the rats with it's light, and still could not find one creature with even an ounce of magical power in it's veins. Ravenna walked in silence through the servant's quarters, checking to make sure the beast was not hiding among the help. She found nothing but a maid and a horse hand, literally 'rolling in the hay'.

The next morning Ravenna came to breakfast understandably grouchy. She sipped her tea and nibbled on some strawberries in cream but refused conversation with any ladies who approached her. Thankfully Aurora did not feel the need to speak to her this morning. Ravenna didn't think she could hold it together for another minute with that idealistic twit. Casting a longer glance at the teenaged Queen, Ravenna found herself wondering why the girl looked so glum; however, Ravenna quickly remembered that she didn't care and would be taking over the kingdom shortly, and hence resumed her nibbling and sipping.

Aurora did not have much of an appetite that morning either. Last night a trio of her most insufferable advisors confronted her about her treatment of their royal guest. They were not impressed…

"What were you thinking, taking her through town? On foot no less—"

"What would she care about our town? She's conquered a hundred towns just like it—"

"She was surveying it for weaknesses that's what she was doing, looking to take over our Kingdom next! I always knew—"

"I really don't think," started Aurora, before being cut off again.

"And beef stew for dinner? Awful choice, truly. Its a poor man's meal—"

"Did you at least show her the church? We are building it up, it really is a showcase of our town's affluence—"

"She's nearly broken Duke Hammond's defenses, it's only a matter of time—"

"Please, stop," she tried, her voice sounding fragile under their booming thunderclaps of disapproval. The trio continued on their discourse, either purposefully choosing to ignore her or too loud to hear her feeble request.

"I know if I was in charge, I would have—"

"My wife told me Regina looked rather bored, did you even try to—"

"Your Highness," shouted a raspy, masculine voice from a few feet behind Aurora. The arguing stopped at once as they all looked to see the newcomer.

Diaval stood erect, his chest subconsciously puffed, at the entrance to Aurora's room, making it unclear whether he came from it or merely opened the door in passing. Bright candlelight flickered through the archway, making his pale skin seem even paler, his black clothing even darker in the shadows of the light. His gaze appeared calm on the surface, but underneath it held something stronger, a testing glare, daring the advisor's to speak over him. None did.

Even Aurora found herself surprised at the power Diaval embodied in his words, in his stance. She stared at him blankly for a moment before softening in recognition. He'd noticed how she'd been outnumbered and sought to even up the teams.

"Yes?" She answered extra sweetly, just to show her advisors how calm she could be in the face of someone they clearly felt intimidated by.

"Your hand maidens are ready to prepare you for bed, when ever you are ready to meet them."

"Thank you," she replied before turning back to her advisors with slightly more confidence. "Now, I will take none of your questions tonight. I am absolutely exhausted from entertaining our guest today. I will see you in the morning."

Aurora paused for a moment, then narrowed her eyebrows.

"Additionally, might I remind you that I am your Queen, the highest power within the borders. I highly suggest you alter your tone when we next speak, or it may be the last time we do."

With that, she turned on her heel and left the advisors standing there, confused. Diaval had already left, not wanting to be caught in a flurry of questions; he'd stepped only a few feet down another corridor, out of view, transformed back into a crow, and hopped out the open window.

Aurora's confidence only lasted until she blew her candle out. After that, all her words and actions throughout the day came tumbling back to her, hitting her full in the face, like cubes of ice in the bottom of a glass tilted just too far.

Maybe it was a stupid idea to take Queen Regina through town. They really had nothing impressive to show her. And walking? Really, she should have insisted on a carriage. They might as well have gone barefoot, too, that's how common walking was.

How could she have allowed afternoon tea to be outside? Regina must have been disgusted, all the bugs and birds flying around. She'd been outdoors all day! She didn't want to spend more time there! Stupid, stupid, stupid. That was why she kept looking around, she was watching the critters, making sure they didn't land too close.

She was such a child, a stupid, naive child. A baby. Immature. She wasn't ready for this, she didn't deserve to be Queen and on and on and on. Then the tears started to flow.

Diaval slept perched on her windowsill, one eye open and on the lookout, as birds often do when they sleep. While half of him slept, the other half heard Aurora begin to sob quietly, muffled as she shoved her face into a pillow. If he could, he would have sighed.

He quickly morphed back into human form, slightly wobbly from just waking up. He stumbled to her side and crouched down, uncurling one hand from its fist on her pillow and holding it gently.

"Shh, Aurora, it's ok. Shh, tell me what's wrong," he coaxed, rubbing her hand softly with his thumb. She mumbled something incoherent into the feathers of her pillow. "I can't understand you, you need to lift your head up," he said patiently.

"I'm fine," she hiccupped through a sob. He rubbed his fingers over her smooth knuckles, hushing her again.

"You by no means look fine. Now please, tell me what's bothering you."

"The court," she mumbled. Diaval rolled his eyes. _Bastards._

"Not them again. You know every word they say is a lie. I wonder why you keep them on sometimes,"

"I can't fire them, they have too much _*hic*_ respect in the castle. But I have _none_ ," she cried. She was getting louder, inconsolable. Diaval feared if this went on any longer, a maid or servant would come in to check on her. He knew she did not wish to be seen like this. He didn't want to leave her side while she was so upset, but if someone walked in on him crouching by the Queen's bedside… things could get ugly.

"Of course they respect you!" he exclaimed in a whisper, "I respect you, Phillip respects you," that only made her cry louder.

"Phillip," she wailed, "he doesn't respect me! He does whatever he's told! He doesn't even love me, his kiss didn't work! Nobody likes me here, Diaval,"

"Shh, Aurora, of course people here like you, I like you!"

"You put up with me because Maleficent told you to!"

"No, Aurora," he began before she crumbled into another fit of tears, causing Diaval's heart to break. Sometimes he forgot she was only sixteen and had such little experience with human matters. She grew up in near complete isolation, with three ditsy buffoons as her only means of socialization. The fairies had rarely grown cross with her, and if they did it was never for long; Aurora never had to deal with adversity like this and therefore had no clue how to deal with it. Plus, if what Maleficent said was true, teenagers, especially female ones, contained a viable hurricane of intense emotions inside of them, changing as quickly as the wind with double the danger.

Sensing a total meltdown, Diaval stood from his crouch and gathered Aurora up in his arms. He lifted her out of bed, holding her bridal style as he settled back down on the floor. People, he'd discovered long ago, enjoy being held and touched, finding comfort in the feeling just as much as animals did. He held her close to him, wrapping one arm around her upper back while the other cradled her knees. He felt her arms slip smoothly around his neck, and her head settle comfortably on his shoulder. She felt so small in his arms, still a child in some respects with her tiny hands and small frame, but also very obviously a young woman. He began rocking her, slowly, gently, as his arms wrapped her in a tight embrace. He turned his chin and mumbled sweet nothings into her ear until her cries softened into light sobs and sniffs. After a few minutes of silence he thought she'd gone to sleep, but he felt her adjust her head on his shoulder, bringing her lips dangerously close to his neck.

"Do you really mean that Diaval? You respect me? You like me?"

Her hot breath tickled the sensitive skin of his neck and sent internal shivers rumbling through his body. The silken quality of her whisper, with a slight hoarseness from her sobs was so… so… Diaval couldn't find words to describe it, and had an even harder time describing how they made him feel.

"Of course I do," he answered, sounding even more husky that usual. _Now's the time,_ he thought, _do it! Say it!_ But his lips struggled to form the words. His mouth seemed to go shaky, just like his hands did sometimes when he was nervous. His tongue refused to touch the roof of his mouth and form the _L,_ and his thin lips could form every shape but the circle he needed for the _O._ He could bite his lower lip just fine for the _V,_ but no breath would come. To think of the _E_ would be useless—the moment had already passed. He cast his eyes down to her bare arm, a little sliver of sun-kissed skin making the gentlest of angles as it curved to hug his neck.

Diaval rocked her for a few minutes more, waiting for the young Queen's breath to become steady on his neck and her heart rate to slow until he could barely feel it. When he was sure she'd fallen asleep, and resting peacefully at that, he stopped rocking her and just held her for a moment. He turned to get a better view of her face, appearing angelic in her sleep.

"I love you, Aurora," he whispered in a voice so soft he could barely hear himself, his lips finally unlocking to make the thought real the moment no one could hear it.

Timidly, he lowered his head and placed a small, chaste kiss upon her forehead. Though innocent enough, he still felt little explosions go off in his head, as if someone had poured a fresh bottle of champagne in his ears and his head now floated on a sea of tiny, fizzy bubbles. His lips had touched her skin. Pulling away, Diaval smiled for a moment. A few minutes later, he stood and gently placed her back in her bed.

The next morning Aurora awoke to sun shining through her window. She smiled as the clouds of sleep dissipated and memories of last night came back to her.

 _Diaval,_ she thought, _he is something special. But where is he?_

Her room noticeably lacked another body. She glanced over to her window, his usual roost when wearing feathers, and noticed it sat wide open. Shoving her quilt aside, Aurora got up and strode to the opening. Looking out, she saw nothing but a cloudless blue sky and an already bustling village below. Left on the ledge of the window, she picked up a single black feather. She smiled again, charmed by his simple, yet effective note.

For some reason, rather than toss the feather out the window, she brought it back to her bed and placed it on her nightstand. Then, fearing one of the servants would come and throw it out, she popped open the top drawer and dropped it in.

Diaval did not return by the time her maidens came to dress her for breakfast, and still did not arrive by the time she left. Aurora did not worry about him, only, his presence would have made the morning more tolerable, and hence, he was partially the reason for her poor mood at breakfast.

In her frustration, Ravenna began cutting up her strawberries into tiny pieces with the side of her fork, and when they got too small, she just began mashing them into pulp. After another minute she excused herself, claiming that she really needed to get on the road again, and if, by chance, she could spare a servant to carry her bags for her. Aurora obliged and left soon after her; she could feel by the stuffiness of the dining room that it was gearing up to be a hot, humid day, and with that in mind, lukewarm porridge didn't really appeal to her.

Aurora visited the kitchen to find a servant, only to find them all occupied organizing an order of food and cleaning up a dropped case of milk. She then sojourned to the stables, only to find the men and women there dealing with the difficult birth of twin foals.

A little frustrated and now sweating from exertion and heat, she left the barn to try the castle blacksmith's, hoping to find an apprentice with a little spare time. Instead, she ran into the one man she was really looking for.

"Diaval!" she said as she turned the corner and saw him awkwardly walking down the hall. He stood tall with his shoulders back; he rarely slouched (she expected it was a vanity thing, to always look ones best). He walked stiffly with his hands in his pockets and his worried, slightly flitty eyes looking straight ahead (The vast number of humans within the castle he lay subject to made him nervous and self conscious), but when he saw her, everything lit up and relaxed. He even smiled.

"Aurora," he answered, coming up to her. "How are you feeling his morning?"

"I'll feel much better once this visiting Queen goes on her way," she answered, dropping her voice.

"Oh no, she's fine by herself," explained Aurora as Diaval pinched his eyebrows in question, "It's just the court is killing me. I'll be happy when they stop mentioning her, but then, they'll just move on to something else."

"I'm sure,"

"Say, what are you up to right now?" Aurora asked, a thought on her mind.

"Nothing too important, why?'

"Regina needs help carrying down her bags; do you think you could do it? It would get her out of here faster." Diaval sighed softly.

"Of course," he answered. He could never say no to her. Aurora had him wrapped around her finger and she knew it. She flashed a wide grin and gave him directions to Regina's room before turning and leaving. She had a meeting with the head housemaid five minutes ago, and Charlotte hated it when she ran late.

When Diaval arrived the Queen had already left. Fortunately, he found three bags, plus an empty birdcage resting neatly on the bed that he assumed were for him to carry to the carriage. Expecting heavy loads, he pushed up his sleeves, gripped their handles firmly, and hoisted before stumbling backwards and nearly falling. They were incredibly light with only a few items in each, he could feel them rattling around. He didn't even think she packed clothes. He thought it odd but didn't dwell on it. Diaval imagined she left most of her bags on the carriage, as she only stayed one night. He shifted the bags around and picked up the cage with his empty hand.

Down the main staircase and across the foyer, he went to the main entrance where Aurora said Regina's coach would have parked, but when he opened the front door with her bags, he saw no carriage waiting.

"Just leave them here," he heard a hard, commanding voice say. "My coachman is on his way."

He stepped a few paces outside the doorway and set the bags down before turning to leave. Before he could, a soft, delicate hand with long, manicured nails latch onto his forearm with an iron grip.

"Wait," said the voice, now dripping honey. Diaval turned. His jaw dropped.

He recognized that frosted blonde hair, smooth but sharp, like stalks of pale wheat twisted tightly in a knot, not the golden waterfall of Aurora's curled tresses. Her eyes were icy too, rimmed with smoky black smears that reminded him of the raptors that tormented him in his younger days. He recognized that voice too now, the one that oozed charm and persuasion. Even he felt affected by her hypnotic gaze, however, the shock of her, the woman he'd been on the lookout for, so close and so soon, allowed his mind clarity for a few moments.

He immediately yanked back on his arm, but she held fast, pressing down with her nails to remind him of their presence. They felt more like claws.

"You can't be a servant here, you're far too handsome," Ravenna said. She finally found him, finally struck gold, and completely by coincidence too. She felt it as he turned to leave, a wave of magical aura hitting her like a slap in the face; he was the one, and she would not leave without him

Diaval did not respond. He couldn't. His lips refused to mold themselves to form words, just like they couldn't last night. He should be attacking her, forcing her to leave, something other than standing here gaping like a dead fish. He couldn't move. He didn't know if she was doing it or if it was just from fear. She looked innocent enough, but danger lurked beneath. Like a blackberry bush, she lured men in with her dark, delicious fruit, only to prick them with red thorns once they got too close. He had to remind himself she had strength enough to bring a man back from the dead. Diaval did not want to be on the receiving end of that kind of powerful dark magic.

"You must be more important than a servant. A guard perhaps? Maybe," She looked him up and down in a way that made Diaval very uncomfortable. "A eunuch?"

"No," Diaval said, sounding more hoarse and raspy than ever. He cleared his throat. "Just a servant to the Queen."

"Perfect," Ravenna purred, "I don't like my guards with any… _alterations_."

She put on a cat-like smile, alluring and hungery. He pulled his arm again, but she held fast. Her nails dug deeper, making little indents on his skin.

"No, don't be scared. I take good care of my help. Don't you want to come back with me?" The way she said 'good care' made him want to vomit.

Now it was her turn to pull. She tugged gently at first, expecting her spell to make him more compliant. It did have some affect, but nowhere near what it would on a non-magical being. His sixteen years of exposure allowed Diaval to build up a level of tolerance to magic.

He resisted her, making her to tug harder. Her coach pulled up to the door then. The driver, either in on the plot or under her spell as well, simply opened the door for his mistress before grabbing her bags and loading them into the back.

"You will not disobey me, shape shifter!"

Diaval brought up his other hand to try and loosen her grip, no longer feeling frozen and sluggish. Her spell must have faded as her desperation increased. Her nails, once only claw-like in an imaginative sense began to actually grow long and black, mimicking talons. They dug into his flesh, drawing thin streams of blood down his arms. He sucked in a breath and tensed up, stopping his efforts for a millisecond as he watched himself bleed. Ravenna saw this and ripped her claws down his arm, creating gruesome tiger stripes of dark red. Diaval couldn't help it; he cried out.

Aurora, crossing the foyer on her way to see Regina off, heard the cry. She quickly glanced, her eyes wide, at a pair of loafing guards, springing them into immediate action. She rushed to the source, with the two metal-clad men struggling to keep up.

Ravenna heard the heavy clunking noise of the men's iron shoes. She stared her captor dead in the eyes, squeezing his wrist with the strength of a boa constrictor before letting go with an angry growl, shrinking her nails back as she did so. She wasn't prepared for this sort of kidnapping. A bird was nothing; nobody would miss a crow, but a human? They were far more accountable.

"This isn't over, shape shifter."

She quickly glanced to the door, judging her time, before dashing into her carriage, slamming the door, and taking off. Diaval clutched his injured arm, feeling the sting as blood ran between his fingers. He quickly yanked his sleeve down just in time to conceal most of the damage from Aurora's innocent eyes.

"Diaval!" Aurora exclaimed, breathless. Her excellent endurance meant nothing when thick fabric and laces constricted her lungs. "What happened?"

"Ravenna," he whispered fiercely leaning into her, "Your visitor was Ravenna!"

Aurora's eyes widened as she turned to watch the carriage, now far in the distance as the coachman whipped the horses into a sprint. Behind her, the guards arrived, looking about for the source of trouble only to find a pale servant boy standing close – a little too close – to the Queen.

"Step back, boy," one said, manhandling Diaval to the side. Just then, he caught sight of the red dripping from his arm. "What happened?"

"I fell," he lied, "my fault." The guard huffed.

"Typical common folk," he mumbled.

"Thank you," Aurora cut in. "Your services are no longer needed here. You may return to your post."

The two men turned and left without another word, but mumbled to each other when out of earshot. Aurora no longer cared. Her concern focused on the man intent on bleeding out in front of her.

"Hold it, tightly," she commanded, guiding him back inside. "Let's get you cleaned up, then you can tell me about our visitor."

 **A/N: What do you think? Do you like the romance between Diaval and Aurora? Do you think Aurora is too emotional? What will Ravenna do now that she knows where Diaval is? Please comment with your thoughts! I love to hear them!**


	11. Probably a Man

_Probably a Man_

As protector of the Moors and a keeper of nature, Maleficent believed it her duty to appreciate and revel in all that nature had to offer. On this particular day, however, she did not appreciate it. At. All. The sun blazed relentlessly on the land, and if the humidity were any higher, it would be raining. Maleficent could only wish for rain. She knew once it did, steam would rise from the slabs of dark granite and the earth would cool, returning to its normal temperature. Right now, Mother Nature seemed intent on frying her in a bath of her own sweat.

Earlier, she cooled off with a swim in a secluded pool, and as blissful as it felt, she could not stay there forever. Besides, though she had a brief respite from the heat, the suns rays still beat on her milky skin; she could feel herself beginning to redden in the harsh rays. She remembered once as a child she'd fallen asleep in the sun, awaking hours later to find her face and limbs cherry red and blistered. It was all very funny to the other pixies, until she'd become ill and dizzy, having to lay in the shade for the rest of the week. They apologized by helping her rub a cooling salve over the burned skin. Years later and still bone pale, she never forgot that awful week and refused to repeat the experience. So it was back on land and back in her clothes again. After all, she should be making rounds about the land, fixing things, solving problems, keeping the peace, and doing whatever else stewards do. But it was just so _hot._

The weather seemed to inspire a sort of lethargy in not just the horned fairy, but also her constituents. The fat bumblebees, once as frantic as young men to pollinate every blooming flower, now lazily ambled from blossom to blossom. The flowers they nuzzled drooped in the heat as well, especially the tulips and narcissi; their petals landed delicately below them like multicolored teardrops. They never could tolerate the heat well, poor dears. The bees seemed fewer in number as well. Perhaps they sought shade elsewhere. It didn't seem like a bad idea, if she thought so herself.

Around midday, Balthazar found Maleficent lounging amongst the shaded branches of her favorite tree, the one she lived in as a child that clung precariously to the edge of a cliff. Despite this, she'd never been afraid of falling before, not with the assurance of her wings to catch her. That is, until she lost her wings. The world became a much scarier place for her after that. She was forced to abandon the tree, _her_ tree, and with it her sense of childish adventure and innocence, leaving it to rot with her blackened heart as she became literally grounded. The day Maleficent returned to the tree marked the dawning of a new age in the Moors, one where her cold heart broke open like a geode to reveal the sparkling love within.

So today, as she lay like some avant-garde ragdoll thrown over the various branches of her tree, she reminded her tree guard of her younger days. Balthazar smiled internally at the picture, for trees have no lips, and are therefore far less expressive, but no less emotional. As he neared her form, he noticed that she'd hiked her dress up past her knees and messily tied back her thick brown hair with a length of cord to keep it off her neck as it beaded sweat. Such an uncharacteristically casual appearance made the tree guard uncomfortable, and he averted his large, bark eyes.

"Yes, Balthazar?" droned Maleficent, keeping her eyes closed and her body still. She'd just found a comfortable position where the occasional breeze would sweep up and hit every inch of overheated skin; Heaven help the soul that made her move.

The tree guard told her of an intruder in the Moors. A girl; young, black hair, pale skin, and incredibly distraught. She ran in from the north, through the dark forest. Clearly being chased.

"Probably by a man," Maleficent muttered with some salt, unsurprised. She tightened her eyebrows. "The dark forest you say? That's quite a feat."

She should have questioned it further; the dark forest was treacherous for magic folk and humans alike, doubly so for the later. Vents in the ground released a misty hallucinogenic gas that made the claw-like branches of gnarled oaks seem to reach out and rip at ones hair and clothes. Slimy moss grew thick, making walking, or more often, running, difficult. Maleficent should have asked Balthazar how she made it through the forest safely, but she just didn't have the energy for it. It was just so _hot_ that she really could not bring herself to care.

Balthazar nodded stiffly in agreement at her conclusion. He continued by saying that his troops had actually found a man roaming the boarder earlier, a mile or so west of the girl, searching as if he had lost something very important. An odd looking fellow, lean but strong, with a shock of blond hair in a weird bowl shape over his head. He left in a fit of anger, only to return the next day with a group of men.

"He must be her pursuant. Poor girl," thought the overheated fairy out loud. She mulled over her choices for a moment while the animated tree stood patiently for her orders. If he hadn't just been communicating with her, Maleficent would have mistaken him for just another oak.

"Give her refuge. And if you happen to see the man whose looking for her again," Maleficent smirked dangerously, "Give him Hell."

Stefan could sense Ravenna's absence in the air of the castle. Everything felt a few degrees warmer, more relaxed, but not by much. The castle stood gelid by the seaside; gray stone steadily splashed with foam and salt; gulls squawking like a crowd of laughing women overhead; and the constant smell of fish, both fresh and not so fresh. Everything was wet. A cold, clammy, wet. Whether it be the slap of boots through a puddle or the splash of a cart over a pothole, or perhaps just the _shh_ sound of todays rain hitting the rain leftover from yesterday, everywhere Stefan went there was water. And the _sound_ of water, that awful sound that assaulted his ears with a battery of squelching noises made him want to vomit. The thump of todays catch on a damp table, the staccatoed splashes as its innards hit the mud; he gagged just thinking about it.

Not once did he see the sun here. He couldn't even see the reflection of the sun, or little baby suns at night. No, here the sky was constantly overcast with intermittent rain. He wondered if this weather was normal, or if he was just lucky enough to experience record-breaking dreariness. Truly, he couldn't fathom how the kingdom survived. How did they produce crops? What did their livestock eat? Fish? He couldn't wait to return to his own kingdom, where the weather was _normal._

Stefan moped over this while strolling about the halls. He didn't dare leave the castle. Besides being completely ignorant of his location, he couldn't bear to see the images that matched the awful sounds he suffered up close. He preferred the click of his shoes on a dry floor to the squelch and sucking of boots in mud. Furthermore, he feared someone would recognize the man whose skin he wore, and he didn't think he'd be able to explain his way out of that encounter.

He passed a pair of maids smiling at some joke muttered out of earshot. They'd only begun smiling when Ravenna and Finn left. The latter departed shortly after breakfast, to search for the prisoner again, or so he heard. The prisoner that escaped to the dark forest. The forest that he knew, or more accurately, that the voice in his head knew.

He heard it more and more now, the little voice. It had grown louder now too, less of a hoarse whisper and more of a soft, deep voice. It never bothered him, just told him little things like, "the beef will treat you nicer than the fish", and "go down that hallway". The voice had never shared a false piece of advice either, making him far more apt to listen. He began to wonder if it really was a voice or if it was just his conscience.

He heard the maids giggle again from behind him, perhaps telling another joke. He thought about what he heard this morning, about Ravenna's letters to the mysterious Edward. He couldn't ask the maids about it, he didn't have enough tact to do it subtly and would cause suspicion. The castle messenger – Nathaniel, they called him – would provide no help, as he was doubtless miles away, delivering another note to _Edward._

Stefan grimaced at the name. He heard another giggle, even further down the hallway and it made him wonder, _why is Ravenna's correspondence with other men bothering me so much? Its not as if_ we _have any sort of relationship._ But thinking this only made him frown harder.

He couldn't put his finger on it, this emotion so unfamiliar to him. It was green and sour like unripened fruit. It knotted in his stomach like a ball of yarn the cat got into. Unconsciously, his fists clenched, then unclenched, stretching. He would find these letters and discover exactly who this _Edward_ was.

Stefan turned an immediate left and trotted down a set of enclosed spiral stairs, trying not to brush his wide shoulders against the dewy walls. It was a wonder no one developed a cough, what with all this damp. He shook his head and continued downward. He imagined she kept the letters in her study, a medium sized room on the first floor. He'd been there a few times and remembered a writing desk in the corner.

At the bottom of the stairs he turned left into Ravenna's throne room. It looked smaller than his, but only just. At one end, on a raised platform, stood a large mahogany throne, extending several feet in the air. The back stood rigid with ornately chiseled panels of Celtic knots; a circular headrest sat in the middle, bronze spikes like sunbeams, or swords, jutting out from the sides. The square-cut chair arms curved into the sharp beaks of twin ravens at the end, the top of their heads and beaks plated again with bronze. As Stefan drew closer, he noticed a different sort of decoration. The thick, rectangular chair stiles held two masterfully carved scenes, beautiful from an artist's point of view, but eerie to the casual onlooker. Each panel held pictures of skeletons, anatomically correct, trying to claw their way out of the wood from the chair. Each form had twelve tiny sets of ribs, no wider than a toothpick, and skulls smaller than a coin, with teeth like strawberry seeds. One skeleton seemed shorter than the others, childlike even, and a few others wore crowns atop their heads.

He looked down and found the base of the throne covered with these carvings as well. It began to disturb him, how realistic the images were, how tormented. He backed away slowly, then faster, tearing his eyes from the empty sockets of the Lilliputian army of skeletons.

Behind the throne stood another set of stairs leading to a plateaued section of the room, and beyond that a great stained glass window. Stefan rushed up the slick, black marble steps, hearing his footsteps echo in the great emptiness. As far as he could tell, Ravenna never held council with any sort of court, nor did she meet with citizens to address their needs. It seemed better to him that way, no other opinions to muck up the law making process. She held total authority in her kingdom, and he liked that about her. A woman who knew how to handle power. Now that he thought about it, he always did find that an attractive quality.

To the left of the window, inserted discretely into the wall sat a plain wooden door with a lock, painted the exact same color as the rest of the walls to avoid detection. He tested the handle—nothing. He shook the handle harder. It may just need some loosening up, he thought. When that didn't work, he put his body into it, using his heavier frame to shake the entire door. Perhaps the lock was old, or, more likely, rusted from the thick moisture in the air. The door shook, but remained unopened. Frowning, he took a knife from a sheath in his new steel-gray jacket. Slipping it in the crack between the door and the wall, he attempted to raise the latch manually, or cut it if possible.

Success—the latch raised and he managed to get the door open, but not before looking briefly behind him; he felt eyes watching him. A quick scan found only a pair of crows sitting atop a high window. He smirked at them with their dull, staring eyes, and then slipped inside.

The room should have been black as pitch, for no windows decorated its dark green walls. However, a singular blue flame in an open jar seemed to provide just enough light to see—or write. He examined the jar, seeing no wick or wax, no oil or anything really to fuel it. It simply sat there and burned. He picked it up, carefully, for it was a flame and he expected it to be hot, but found it cool to the tough. There was nothing beneath the jar to fuel the flame either.

 _Its magic,_ whispered the voice. _If she could bring you back from the dead and place you in another man's body, then this must be child's play._

Stefan nodded slowly. Most confusing things could be explained by accepting them as magic. Though the flame still intrigued him, he managed to look away. He kept forgetting how Ravenna dabbled in the mystical arts; though she didn't exactly ooze _innocence_ per se, she also didn't look like a witch, at least not the red-lipped horned kind he was accustomed to. He set it back down, right next to a pile of envelopes, just as it was before. _Envelopes,_ he thought _, Edward._

He picked up the top one and read it:

 _Sir Rowan of the Fifth Brigade_

Military. Nothing to worry about. The next:

 _Lady Constance_

He chuckled. Just another woman, probably exchanging gossip or the latest trends. He was beginning to feel reassured when he turned to the next letter:

 _King Edward_

His face went slack. _King._ She's found another King, one she didn't have to help back to his throne. Had she upgraded to a higher caliber of man, one with less baggage? He scrunched his face angrily. _I'll get to the bottom of this._

He lifted the envelope flap, thanking the Heavens she'd already opened it. He used a red wax seal, with what appeared to be a lion as his stamp. _How trite_ , he thought. Pulling out the paper inside, he found a folded square card with a few lines penned in immaculate cursive:

 _My Dear Ravenna,_

 _Thank you ever so much for your last letter. Your advice and constant support through these trying times is much appreciated, as are your surprise visits. Please come again soon, I had the most splendid evening with you during your last stay, and I just know the ladies of the court will enjoy your coming just as much as I did._

 _Yours,_

 _Edward_

Stefan struggled to not crumple the paper in his fists. Instead he dropped it on the desk, fists shaking with a bitter cocktail of anger and jealousy he'd never felt before.

What did he mean by "splendid evening"? And why was she paying him "surprise visits"? Ravenna never paid _him_ surprise visits, or any visits at all really, besides business ones. Yet she cared enough about him to _bring him back from the dead_?! These were mixed signals if he ever saw any.

The quill sitting in it's glass inkwell, the stack of books, the simple wooden chair, and that incredible blue flame; all of them were targets for his rage. But he abstained. Can't leave a trace. She couldn't know he'd been here.

Instead he let out a howl. The bellow shook the air, and made the two crows sitting outside fly from their perch.


	12. Homecoming

**A/N: Guest, this is for you. Ask and you shall receive ;) To the other Guest who asked if the sister of the Wicked Queen will be making an appearance, please note that I have not seen the new "The Huntsman" movie, and when I do, I will not be featuring it in this** **fic. You may doubt this considering the abysmal frequency of my updates, but I have the whole plot planned out already :)**

 _Homecoming_

"No really Aurora, I'm fine," Diaval insisted as the young Queen gripped his injured arm, attempting to apply pressure on the wound while simultaneously pulling him toward the infirmary.

"You need to have this looked at!" she replied in a harsh whisper as a maid walked by with a basket of laundry. Her eyes flashed to the scene before her, but she held her tongue. At least for now.

"And what would we say happened?"

"Animal attack. A cat or a nasty squirrel."

"Oh yes, very believable. A _squirrel_ came out of nowhere and attacked me for no reason, then ran off. And on castle grounds, no less," Diaval pulled back now, resisting Aurora's spirited tugs.

"It was rabid." She replied. Diaval dipped his chin, his exasperation intensifying. Aurora shrugged, "stranger things have happened,"

"Aurora, no." He said, stopping.

"Please, at least have Leo look at it," she insisted, tugging again on his arm. Diaval winced. "Sorry."

"I don't want to draw attention Aurora. And I'm sorry, but I don't really trust your human doctors."

"Diaval."

"No."

Aurora groaned and changed directions, turning to a different door. Diaval followed, eager to get out of the limelight. He felt like an actor on stage with all these people watching them, if only out of the corner of their eye. Between the two guards from before and the smattering of maids, cooks, stable hands, and various servants crossing the foyer, he might as well take a bow.

Another maid passed with a basket of laundry. Aurora wheeled.

"Pardon," she called, her voice pitching up an octave as she rushed back to the woman who'd stopped, eyebrows raised. Aurora peered in the basket. "May I take this?"

"Of course, my Lady" she answered, slightly confused but compliant nonetheless.

Aurora dug about for a moment with her clean hand, concealing the other, covered in red, behind her back. She pulled a white sheet from the pile, thanked the woman, and then turned back around. The smile she put on for the woman disappeared instantly, replaced with an annoyed grimace for Diaval.

Aurora came to a door tucked away behind a tapestry. The wood felt heavy and thick, made of vertical oak planks held together with two iron bars. It stuck near the bottom, so she threw her weight against it and shoved it open. Inside looked like a bathroom. To the immediate right hung another door, presumably to the privy, and straight ahead sat a large wooden tub in the middle for washing. Beside it stood a small table with all of the fixings for a bath; soap, a cloth for washing, a comb, some scented oils, and a few towels. To the left of the tub stood a chair, and beside it stood another table with a water pitcher.

"Sit down," Aurora commanded, finally letting him go. Slightly amused by her authoritative tone, Diaval did as asked. Aurora gathered some supplies at the table by the bath and returned to Diaval's side, kneeling in front of him.

"Show me your arm," she said quietly, wetting a cloth with the water from the pitcher.

Diaval rolled up his sleeve, carefully, but still ended up wincing as he torn fabric from flesh already scabbed. Red still oozed from the pinstripes down his arms, but quite a few had caked up already. He presented the gory limb to Aurora, ready for her to back away, changing her mind, but she held fast.

Taking the cloth, she delicately dabbed at the cuts, trying to loosen the dried bits and wipe the red clean. Diaval felt his skin prickle at the coolness of the water and the softness of her touch.

"Sorry, it's cold,"

"No, its… fine." He answered, smiling, albeit awkwardly.

"Does it hurt?" she asked quietly.

"Not so much now," he answered, mimicking her quietness. He lied, of course. It stung like Hell, but she didn't need to know that. Besides, she distracted him. She moved carefully, gentle, like she knew how badly it pained him despite him claiming otherwise. His eyes flickered to the brilliant gold twisting's in her diadem, how it shimmered in the clouded sunlight. He couldn't help it; birds were naturally attracted to shiny things. Perhaps that was why he was so attracted to her, because she shone like the sun in the sky. He recalled how she'd taken to wearing flower crowns as a child, linking wild daisies and violets into elaborate rings, resting them in her hair. He imagined it was instinct; she was born to wear a crown. If only she realized that. He moved down to her eyes, hooded as they concentrated on her work. They seemed to go on forever, little galaxies on a white sky.

"I'm sorry about before," she muttered, "It just looked so bad, all that blood. I panicked."

"It was a natural reaction. I'm not mad at you." Aurora didn't respond.

A few minutes later she finished cleaning the wound. The cuts were deep in a few spots. She felt like they needed stitching, but honestly, the prospect of sewing someone's skin back together made her stomach turn. Besides, she had no needle or thread. She figured she would wrap it as best she could and convince him to see the doctor later.

"So," started Aurora, setting down the red stained cloth and picking up the bed sheet. "Our visitor was not 'Regina' after all."

"No," he answered, watching as she tore the thin fabric into strips. It almost made him wince. Some poor servant worked _ages_ weaving that cloth. Now it was ruined, all for him.

"But if she didn't bring Stefan with her, then why was she here?"

"Perhaps she needed insight into the Kingdom. Discover it's nooks and crannies, sift out our weaknesses."

"There are plenty of those," Aurora grumbled. She paused in her ripping, remembering something, then folded in on herself with a groan, planting her face in her palms.

"Ugh, and I gave her the _grand tour_ of the whole city!" She groaned again before mumbling, "my advisors _told_ me I shouldn't show her around! They said the same thing you did! I'm such an _idiot_."

"Please Aurora, you had no way of knowing. Really it's my fault for not catching her sooner. The one reason I'm here and I don't figure it out until she's leaving. If anyone's to blame, its me."

"Still-" she tried, only for Diaval to cut her off.

"No, no 'still'. You are not taking the credit for this one Aurora, its all mine." She giggled then, before looking down at the shreds of cloth in her lap.

"Oh God Diaval, we're a mess." They smiled together, and Diaval wondered briefly if now was the time. He could pass it off as casual, just a quick _'I love you, Aurora'_ , as brief and meaningless as an endearment between friends. The moment came and the moment went, as fleeting as springtime. Aurora looked back down at the shreds before her, and Diaval knew he was too late.

She opened three small bottles from the ground beside her, pouring almond sized drops into her palm. Instantly he smelled the green, floral aroma of lavender, and a second later the spiciness of frankincense. She mixed them with her finger before rubbing her palms together. She smoothed the fragrant salve over his cuts, gently so to not disturb the healing flesh. Diaval watched her, transfixed. Had she done this before? He didn't know, but perhaps he should hurt himself more often.

Aurora took the first strip and placed it an inch before the beginning of the cuts, right at the base of his elbow. She wound it around his arm, tightly, but not too tightly, threading in new strips when needed. When she reached his wrist, she looped the strip between his thumb and forefinger a few times to keep everything in place before tying it off.

"I didn't know you could do that," Diaval mumbled.

"Please, it's not that hard. Besides, the fairies taught me."

"Speaking of fairies," began Diaval, "Maleficent will want to know about this. She may have an idea of what to do."

"Agreed." Aurora said standing up. "We'll go tonight."

" _We're_ not going anywhere. I will fly over and tell her. I'll be back by nightfall."

"You're not seriously going to leave me here, are you? What if she comes back?"

"You'll be far safer inside the castle with your guards than on the open roads with pitiful me," he retorted, thrusting his freshly bandaged arm to show her, as if she didn't already know how useless he was. He had one job, _one,_ and he failed at it. _Protect Aurora_ , that's what she said, wasn't it? That was all Maleficent asked of him, to protect her goddaughter. And he failed. He allowed the lion to roam the castle for over a day, allowed Aurora to eat with her, converse with her, unaware of her claws and teeth.

"You are not pitiful!"

"Really, Aurora? I couldn't even protect myself. How am I supposed to protect another person?"

"You protected Maleficent during the battle," she started, causing Diaval to groan in response, cutting her off. He grew angry as more memories of his previous failures were dug up.

"No, I didn't. Stefan still got to her. You're the real hero, finding her wings." He jabbed a finger at the door, "These guards tied me down within the first ten minutes. Even as a bloody dragon, I was useless."

"That's not true. I don't think you're useless." Diaval huffed. Aurora tried to conjure up some inspirational pep talk, something intelligent that he couldn't rebuff, but she was at a loss. Making people feel better wasn't her strong suit, it was his. He was the one to always brighten her mood after a terrible day. All she could do was mess things up and cry about it later.

"Really," she tried, "I think you're wonderful. You've been such a help to me these past two days."

Diaval crossed his arms, ignoring the fresh sting beneath the bandages. Aurora placed a hand on his arm, and he softened under her touch. He turned to face her; she'd come within a foot of him.

"I trust you, even if you don't trust yourself. I know I'll be safe with you"

"Aurora," he said, softer, "it's really not a good idea for you to come along."

"I know," she answered smiling that Devil-may-care smile only a teenager could supply. Diaval had a hard enough time saying no to her to begin with, but with a smile like that, his resolve melted and he consented.

Night came and with it a peppering of blinking stars, beautiful in their celestial swirls and cosmic pictures. In the fields below the castle, many a farmer sat out with their young sons and watched the night sky take shape. They pointed out the Big Bear, the Little Bear and the Snake that curved between them. They found the Little Dog and the North Star, and then created a few pictures of their own. They lay in the soft grass for hours, talking and not talking, soaking in the peaceful stillness of night until mother calls them in. The two would then stand, shaking the dew off their tunics and their hair, clapping each other on the back as they came in for the night.

Unfortunately, the night did not hold this kind of peace for Diaval and Aurora. Neither had parents to sit and watch the night sky with and contemplate life, nor did they have the time. When night fell and the land went dark, Aurora "retired" to her room, threatening Diaval with unspeakable tortures should he break his promise and go without her. True to his word, he arrived at her window two hours after the sun set. She let him in, already in her nightdress thanks to her handmaiden. In a loose dress with her hair down and face clean, Diaval was reminded of the old days. Back when Aurora still lived in the cottage with the three fairies; back when Maleficent was simply her fairy godmother and not some complicated hero-villain, both cursing her and saving her; when Aurora was just Aurora, not the Queen of two Kingdoms, stressed beyond human limits, and betrothed to boot. Of course, her dresses weren't quite so thin back then either, but still.

"Take a robe," he said, trying to frame it as more of a suggestion. "It's cold outside."

This was true; the temperature dropped rather quickly at night. However, he asked her more for his own benefit then hers. She looked far too… distracting. He needed to be at the top of his game tonight, especially since his game was meager to begin with.

"Anything else?" She asked sincerely, pushing her arms through her robe sleeves.

"Perhaps a light snack," he mused, causing her to roll her eyes and throw a silver comb from her vanity at him. It struck him in the chest and he fumbled to catch it before it clattered noisily to the floor.

"Hey, shh!"

"Let's get going," she giggled.

Aurora picked up the candle by her bedside, curling her finger through the holder's ring. She cracked the door and slipped through, with Diaval following close by. He shut the door silently.

Earlier they agreed to take the back passage out of the castle, the one they took up upon discovering Stefan's reanimation. They ghosted down the stairwell, passing through the abandoned barracks on slippered feet. The room seemed eerie at night; fifty or so hammocks hanging bodiless and still on dusty ropes. Aurora shuddered. Neither wished to linger.

The next set of stairs was harder. They were near the servant's quarters now. While they knew the help couldn't really _do_ anything if they found their Queen out of bed (after all, she wasn't a child anymore), it would not look good for the recently betrothed Aurora to be sneaking around with another man. She didn't need another reason for her court to hate and disrespect her.

They eventually made it to the kitchen, empty and somewhat clean. Aurora checked the pantry to make sure Chef hadn't passed out drunk from drinking the cooking wine again. She'd found him there one night when she'd come down looking for a midnight snack. When she came back, Diaval had stepped on top of a counter to unlock the window. He hoisted himself out and dropped to the ground. Inside he heard Aurora climbing. He saw her face in the window, pale and luminous in the moonlight. Foolishly she looked down.

"It's not that high, you'll be ok."

"Easy for you to say," she whispered harshly, her eyes constantly flickering down. "You're accustomed to heights!"

She had a point.

"Look, I'll catch you, you just have to jump!"

She looked at him, nervous.

"I promise. You said you trusted me," he pressed. They had limited time. The trip to the Moors was not a quick one. It would take them at least an hour both ways.

He saw Aurora shimmy and bring her legs up, swinging them so they hung free off the ledge. She clung to the brick with white knuckles.

"I'm right here, I'll catch you," he continued. He thought if he kept reminding her that he was just beneath her she'd feel better about jumping. Honestly, the window was less than three meters high. But then again, heights never did bother him.

Aurora turned herself to face the wall and awkwardly tried to climb her way down, slipping just the tips of her slippered toes into the cracked stone. She gripped the ledge with her fingers, white and straining to hold her body as it hung freely.

"Let go Aurora", Diaval whispered. She held on. "Let go, I'm right here, right below you, you can let go."

Aurora sucked in a breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and released her fingers.

She immediately dropped into Diaval's arms, her feet landing firmly on the ground as he slowed and guided her descent.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked, peering over her shoulder as his arms wrapped around her waist.

"No, still awful, but I'm alive, so," Diaval scoffed. _Drama Queen,_ he thought, and then laughed.

Travel became easier now that they were away from watchful eyes. Diaval went to the stables and fetched a horse; a mostly black mare for them to ride that would blend into the night. He took the front seat and set Aurora up in the back. He felt that, having previously been a horse, he had much more experience with the species than she did. She didn't argue.

The two didn't say much on the ride. Perhaps it was fear of being heard or of being caught. Perhaps they just didn't wish to disturb the sanctity of the night, not yet at least. In reality though, the two knew they didn't need to talk. They felt no need to fill the silence with idle prattle.

Aurora wrapped her arms around Diaval's waist, mimicking his grip on her from earlier. She did it mainly so she wouldn't fall off, but the horse really wasn't moving fast enough to make her worry. They trotted quickly through town, trying to reduce the risk of discovery. Once outside of the city walls, Diaval slowed the horse to a walk.

They crossed a small stone bridge into the countryside, noticing many dilapidated houses and skinny cows standing ankle-deep in muddy fields. Aurora watched as their tails flicked flies like the pendulum of a grandfather clock, and they chewed, chewed, chewed. In the distance, Aurora noticed great expanses of white fog settling over the lowest points in the valley. It swirled around and hid sheep in its pillowy clouds, then moved to bathe short patches of corn in its wispy fingers.

Aurora leaned forward and rested her head on Diaval's back, listening to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat as the horse swayed beneath her.

"Falling asleep already?" Diaval joked.

"Just resting," she mumbled. He felt her jaw move along his ribs and her fingers readjust along his waist.

"You rest then. We have a long night ahead of us."

He felt Aurora's skin pull as she smiled at his words. He smiled with her and found that he couldn't stop. He dreamed of moments like these, where he could hold her close, or she him. He couldn't hear the part of his brain that liked to remind him of their father-daughter relationship, not tonight. Tonight the euphoria he felt over her touch bullied that voice into a corner. This felt so _right,_ so perfectly _right._

She shifted her position again, tightening her grip on his waist. Her touch ignited fires, if only under his skin. He felt himself melt, and gripped the horse's hair tighter, to keep from sliding. He wished he could see her, so peaceful as she drifted in and out of sleep, her brows clean lines, not crumpled in anguish over this and that. Of course, he wasn't complaining about what he had now either. Her touch was like melted butter; it made everything better.

As they crossed over the final stone bridge into the Moorlands and entered the forest, Diaval noticed something off. It was virtually noiseless, at least to him. At night, the Moors usually played host to a chorus of croaking frogs and Waller Bogs and a deafening buzz of winged insects. The wind should sing with the chirrups of crickets. He should hear the occasional owl questioning his passage. Tonight, however, the buzz seemed to be a low hum at best with only intermittent croaks.

Diaval straightened up as he strained to listen, hoping to hear the owl's soft question. Aurora felt his tension and pulled her head from him, blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

"What is it?" She whispered, yawning.

"Something's wrong," he answered, scanning the trees. A quiet forest generally meant a lurking predator.

The black horse continued her walk. A few more meters into the wood and the sound never picked up. In fact, it just seemed to get quieter. Then, a great woodsy crashing noise occurred, all rustling leaves and snapping branches.

The picture of stillness broke when a tall elm tree decided to bend over. The tree brought two thick leafy branched upside down over his… knees? The mare began backing away as the tree came down, and Diaval had to use every kind word he knew to calm her.

The tree settled back into relative stillness, its leaves still trembling, when two ovular sections of bark wrinkled back to reveal darker sections of bark; eyes.

 _Who goes there?_ It asked, its voice penetrating Diaval's mind rather than the air, deep as a quarry and rough as a sack of gravel. Diaval wondered if one answered it with thoughts as well.

"The Queen Aurora, and her companion, Diaval," he said aloud, after simply thinking the words proved useless. _Oh, that sounds pitiful,_ Diaval thought. _Her companion, like I'm her pet._

 _Aurora may pass, her 'companion', may not,_ the tree droned.

"What?" Diaval gasped.

"Who put these restrictions on the border?" Asked Aurora, finally piping up. Apparently she'd heard the tree in her mind too.

"Three guesses who," muttered Diaval, looking back. He turned to the tree again and explained that he was a close friend of Maleficent. "You may have seen me before, in another form. I am usually a crow."

 _No humans, save Aurora, are to enter the Kingdom of the Moors,_ repeated the tree guard, ignoring him.

"He is a friend of mine. I insist he come with me," Aurora pressed. The tree didn't budge. Diaval had to give it to him (her?), he/she was dedicated. But his appreciation was short lived, as the minutes on the clock continued ticking away. Nights were shorter this time of year; the sun would rise in a few hours

As Aurora and the tree continued their argument, with neither side gaining any ground, Diaval averted his attention to a light rustling of leaves to his left. _A bird, perhaps?_ He thought. _Odd, as the forest seemed nearly void of life until the tree sentinel showed up_. _Then it must be the wind_. He tilted his head minutely as his ears picked up a rhythm. It sounded like… footsteps?

"Left them pass, Melchior," A deep, slightly annoyed voice rang out, "Really, you'd think he'd know your face by now Diaval."

The two riders jumped at the unknown speaker, spinning in their seats to face the direction it came from. The first thing they saw were her emerald green eyes and apple red lips, glowing like a lightening bug against the blackness of the night. When Maleficent finally stepped into the light, the moon painting a silvery glow over her athletic build, they smiled at each other.

"Godmother!" Aurora said, sliding off the horse and running into the great fairy's outstretched arms. She buried her face into the woman's chest, inhaling the earthy green aroma of her wool dress like it was the finest perfume. "We have so much to tell you."

Maleficent pulled away from the girl and glanced at Diaval, still on horseback. He had stopped smiling. Maleficent's smile faded as she realized this was not a friendly visit.

"Then come, there is no time to waste."


	13. Stars Hide Their Fires

_A/N: Shoutout to RedHood001 for letting a ho know that this chapter looked like code-vomit. Hopefully things look better know. Enjoy ;)_

 _Stars Hide Their Fires_

Maleficent lead the two castle fugitives to the stream, the same section of shoreline that functioned as the group's usual meeting spot before Aurora pricked her finger. Diaval remembered the first time they came here; a family of Wallerbogs was bathing in the mineral muds when Aurora went to say hello. The first Wallerbog, struck by the princess's beauty, bashfully attempted to offer her a white flower. Aurora leaned in to accept it, smiling politely at the grayish- pig-like creature, when a cold, wet clod of mud hit her _smack_ in the back. She froze, unaccustomed to the typical Wallerbog "hello". Though shocked by the projectile, Aurora did not huff, puff, or even frown, she simply responded in kind. She gathered a dripping handful of muck from the slime-coated river bed and slung it right back at them, a childish giggle on her lips. The ball sent the Wallerbog splashing into the water, his friends oinking with laughter. The noise drew others from their mud baths, coming to see what fun was to be had. Diaval smiled at the memory. No one left the stream clean that night, but nobody cared. _Alas, how the times have changed._

As they approached the water, Diaval noticed how the dreadful quiet and near lifelessness from earlier persisted. For a Moorland waterway, the site looked decidedly un-magical. Honestly, it reminded Diaval of a stream in Aurora's kingdom; dark, cold, and exceedingly boring. Moorland waters always seemed to glow from within; this one barely reflected the moon. The rocks and foliage all used to shimmer like every surface had been kissed with fairy dust, but what he saw now just seemed dusty and dull. Only last week, hundreds of fireflies filled the night air, their lights as bright as earth-bound stars in their vitality. Now, only three or four bugs blinked weakly, more dying candles than cosmic fires.

He noticed that the water sprites were missing too. He'd looked forward to seeing their nightly dance, a spectacular, colorful light show set beautifully on a dark watery canvas. He couldn't even hear their music in the distance. He remembered the sound of their every step sounding like a million tiny bells ringing in unison. He found himself doubly sad at their absence as he remembered they were Aurora's favorite too. She would be so disappointed.

Always an open book, especially when he experience displeasure, Diaval grimaced widely.

"What is going on here?" he whispered to Maleficent. "Where is everybody?"

"I'm not sure. We've had less and less come out as the days go by but, tonight…" her voice faded as she scanned the landscape and struggled to find words. Diaval's eyes widened as he saw something lurking in her iridescent orbs, something soft and fragile that he'd only ever seen once before; worry.

The topic dropped as they came to the water's edge. Aurora peeked into the water, checking to see if perhaps the sprites were just hiding, or sleeping beneath a blanket of algae. She saw nothing. Her face fell, curiosity crumbling into disappointment. It only lasted for a moment before she tightened her lips and turned around. She joined Maleficent on a low hanging branch of a nearby oak while Diaval leaned darkly against an adjacent tree trunk, his arms crossed over his chest.

They told Maleficent everything, starting with the moment Aurora foolishly welcomed Ravenna with literal open arms into her kingdom to the sight of her carriage kicking up dust as she fled. Maleficent listened, analyzing the story with the precision of a general. Her face went tight when she heard Diaval tell the much-abridged version of his encounter with the evil Queen. He skimmed over her attacking him, still feeling sheepish over his inability to defend himself. Maleficent watched as he pulled on his sleeve then folded his good arm over the other, trying to hide the makeshift bandages, but she saw them and she knew. Her alabaster teeth, usually gleaming in a smile, clenched beneath her blood red lips.

Aurora bit her lip as they finished their story, anxiously awaiting some piece of fix-it-all wisdom from the winged sage. Diaval too, less obviously, tilted his head forward, awaiting orders. Maleficent steepled her fingers and rested them over pursed lips. Her thick eyebrows furrowed in deep though as she stared intently at a swatch of long, swaying grasses, concentrating.

"I cannot fathom," she began, brining her hands from her face, speaking slowly, "why she would so brazenly visit your kingdom other than to scout it for Stephan, as you suggested Aurora. He must wish to know what changes occurred upon his death, so that he may right them when he returns." Aurora nodded politely, but Diaval's eyes hardened as he read right through her response; truthfully, she was just as stumped as they were. Her guesses were grasping at straws.

Aurora glanced up at Diaval as Maleficent looked away, searching for answers in the delicately wafting blades of grass. The young Queen's large blue eyes, caught Diaval's tight black ones, growing even tighter as he noted her worry. Worry quickly shifted to dread as she understood the meaning of Diaval's expression; _Maleficent doesn't know—we're on our own_.

"I do find it odd that she was so interested in you, Diaval," Maleficent continued, ignorant to the silent conversation that had just taken place. She wasn't sure if Diaval was the main focus of her visit, or just a side quest. Just thinking about his encounter with Ravenna disgusted the horned fairy; how _dare_ she even _think_ about touching him, about taking him away? Her companion? Her closest friend? It made her blood boil to hear of a sorceress with such blatant disrespect for the rules.

"I do as well," Diaval responded, looking away as memories replayed in his head of all Ravenna's lewd suggestions. They made his stomach turn. He hugged himself closer. "She must have had some kind of ulterior motive."

"I didn't want to say it, but yes. I doubt she wanted you for all your manly goodness," The corners of her lips turned up as a laugh bubbled up behind her lips. That was the only amusing part of this to her, how the witch played upon Diaval's fragile masculinity. She could only imagine the confusion on his face at the time. He shot her his "not amused" face, the one he used every time Maleficent played tricks in poor taste.

"What would she need him for then?" asked Aurora, refusing to tease Diaval further, but still trying to cover her own smile.

"Well, she wouldn't be the first person of royal blood to fancy a collection of magical creatures. Perhaps she intended to make Diaval her newest addition." Diaval shivered at the thought. He was not an object to place on a shelf, or in a cage. He may have been born a crow, but he identified with the humans just as much as the birds now. Neither species was meant for captivity.

"There is no way that was her only goal. Why would she go through so much trouble and risk just to add another creature to her collection? There must be something else, something we're missing," pushed Aurora. Maleficent thought for another moment.

"Did she talk about anything specific? Perhaps a certain place, or an object?"

"She spoke of finding a rookery. Said she liked bird watching," Maleficent's eyes flickered to Diaval's and he returned the glace, black eyes growing round with realization. Aurora continued, unaware, "Do you think she was waiting for correspondence? A carrier pigeon?"

"An empty birdcage was among her luggage," Diaval continued. "It was clean too. She didn't bring a bird with her, she intended to take one back!"

 _She was looking for me._ Diaval though, his blood turning cold. _That's why she came, she was looking for me. That cage was meant for me._

But Diaval still couldn't wrap his head around the why. For some reason he could not believe Maleficent's theory about him becoming the newest attraction at some sort of sick enchanted menagerie. How would she even know about a shape-shifting crow? He'd never left Aurora's kingdom; the farthest he went was when he unearthed Stefan's grave. Could she have seen him change while he was in the cemetery? Or was it the undertaker, peeking through the window?

"No, I think that was still related to Diaval," Maleficent continued, answering Aurora. "So capturing Diaval was clearly a large priority for her, but was it her only one? She must have something else going on. She wouldn't risk her whole operation just to expand her zoo," Maleficent continued, quietly speaking her train of thought to the other two.

"Did she show any interest in the graveyard when you gave her a tour? Some lore states that the undead must sleep with soil from their grave to stay alive."

Diaval grimaced. Aurora shook her head.

"He isn't really undead though," Diaval replied quickly, unable to get off the idea of how close he was to being kidnapped, "just in the body of another. Like a soul transplant."

Maleficent placed her fingers over her chin, thinking. Diaval looked at the sky when neither woman spoke. The Great Bear in the stars had shifted. It's snout now kissed the horizon. Maleficent looked up too, unsure of how to continue.

"It's getting late. The sun will be up in a few hours."

Maleficent stood from her perch, taking her walking stick from the forked twig she rested it on. The cane served more as a reminder of her past than as a support piece now, but she still kept it around. Perhaps one day it would come in handy, as it had when she first lost her wings.

"The plot thickens," murmured the Great Fairy, feeling old despite her youth. Fairies didn't age as humans did, nor did any magical creature. Still, these sixteen years of anger and fear took their toll on her.

"I must do more research, consult some friends, and think deeply on this matter. But for now, you must protect each other now. With Stefan inevitably after Aurora's throne, and Ravenna after Diaval, neither of you are safe. Double your guards and have them on the look out for Ravenna. Other than that, there is nothing we can do now."

"What do you mean? Can't we go after her?" asked Aurora springing from her seat, incredulous.

"That is not the way of the Moors, Aurora," answered Diaval softly, stepping away from the tree and into the moonlight. He felt slightly disenchanted with the idea of peaceful relations himself. He wasn't happy about it, but he couldn't argue either. Ravenna held real strength, and he didn't want to provoke it any more than he needed to. He had heard of her metal soldiers, the ones who could reform out of their own shattered pieces. It made him wonder why she needed him when she already had this caliber of magic under her pointed hat. "The Moorfolk celebrate a long-held tradition of peace. To attack another land would destroy an over 300 year old decision."

"But she attacked us first!"

"And she left. Self-defense is permitted, but to descend upon her in her home would be a major violation of our law," Maleficent said.

Aurora sat down with a quiet noise of exasperation and promptly slumped over. She held her head in her hands, frustrated again with the ways of government. Maleficent looked down at her, face full of pity at the massive weight placed on the teenager's shoulders. She shouldn't have to deal with this, not at her age. She tried to help carry some of the weight, provide pearls of wisdom when she could, but there was a certain portion that the Great Fairy simply couldn't help with. Maleficent looked to Diaval, who stood watching the fretting girl with the same pity and sadness she had. He truly did love her, just as Maleficent loved her; they felt the love of a parent who never wants to see their child unhappy, but unfortunately, Aurora had not felt much happiness since she'd taken the throne. _Happily Ever After_ seemed more like a joke everyday.

"Thank you for coming tonight," said Maleficent softly, speaking over Aurora's head to Diaval. "I'll contact you if I think of anything, anything we can do in the meantime. Let me know if anything else happens."

"Of course," he answered. Maleficent took a few steps towards Diaval's tree, coming back the way she came, when she stopped parallel to him and spoke without turning.

"And if you see that wretched woman again, you have permission from the steward of the Moors to tear her apart in the name of self-defense."

Diaval smirked. Maleficent gave him a small smile back before continuing on her way.

He waited on the tree for a few more minutes, tuning his advanced hearing to pick up any sobs, cries, or sniffles. He heard not one. When Aurora finally lifted her head it looked as if she'd just woken up. Her skin appeared slightly paler than before, and she squinted despite her efforts to open her eyes wide. He knew she hadn't fallen asleep behind the platinum curtain of her hair, only contemplated her options. She sucked in a deep breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth, and then tilted her head to the sky.

"It's a beautiful night," she started.

"Yes, it's completely cloudless. And the moon has already sunk below the horizon line. The moonrise is short this time of year."

"We should probably go then," she began, still gazing motionless at the sky.

"Yes."

"But can we stay a little while longer?" Diaval looked at her face grimly, trying to give the impression he would say no, thinking that perhaps she'd rescind the request if she saw a refusal in his eyes. She didn't. They really did need to leave, but, he wouldn't mind spending a few extra minutes under the stars with her. He released a puff of air crumbling his stern façade like a brown autumn leaf.

"Only a few minutes."

Aurora smiled and slipped off the branch. In one fluid motion she sprawled out on the grass, belly up, in full starfish formation. The starlight played with her hair, casting deep shadows next to blinding highlights, giving Aurora an edgier look than Diaval was used to. Even her eyes, usually the most royal of blues appeared gray tonight. The dulling of colors did not mar Aurora's beauty, merely changed his perception of it. Tonight, as the shadows and silver light crept over her skin, she became a fascinating shade of mystery that Diaval desperately wanted to uncover.

"Aren't you going to join me?" she asked, after Diaval remained leaning on the tree, watching her.

"If you wish,"

He settled down next to her, folding one hand behind his head and crossing the other over his middle, all too aware of Aurora's hand lying on the grass next to him. He looked up at the night sky, a thousand tiny fireflies stuck winking in the eternal blackness, far more diligent in their twinkling than the earth-bound ones.

He immediately found Andromeda in the sky, a V-shaped smattering of stars depicting the beautiful Aetheopian Princess. Her mother, the boastful Queen Cassiopeia (whose constellation lay just above her daughter's) claimed that Andromeda's beauty surpassed that of the sea nymphs, angering the sprites' father, the sea god Poseidon. When Poseidon sent a sea monster to ravage the Kingdom in retaliation, Cassiopeia offered up her daughter to the monster by chaining her to a sea rock. Diaval imagined Aurora looking much like Andromeda did then, spread eagle and waiting for disaster to strike. He thought of Perseus then too, Andromeda's rescuer.

Perseus had just returned from slaying the Gorgon when he saw Andromeda. She, the youthful damsel-in-distress, so struck the hero in her beauty that he nearly fell off his horse. When he finally landed to see her, he immediately fell in love and told her parents that, if he could have her hand, he would save her and the Kingdom from the terrible beast sent to kill her. _If only I could be like Perseus,_ Diaval thought; _suave, heroic, and able to save fair maidens with only my brawn and good looks._

Thinking of the Greek hero caused a sudden rush of bravery to well up within the dark haired man. He reached out and grasped Aurora's hand, still warm beside him. _God_ was it soft. He heard the soft crunching of grass as her head turned towards him. Confusion. Concern. He could feel it. His mind tore through possible excuses for his behavior.

"Don't worry Aurora, we'll make it through this," he said, gliding his thumb over her knuckles, approaching the situation as if he meant to comfort her. He turned his head to judge her reaction, and found her smiling. Her eyes were wide and pupils fat from the dark but _shining_ underneath like a river stone.

They lay like that for several long moments, silently studying each other, every curve and line of their features, the way their nostrils grew and shrank with each beautiful breath. Aurora noticed the sharpness of his nose, casting a shadow so razor straight it could cut skin. Too, she noticed the perfect symmetry of his face, how the sides of his widow's peak were even and his eyes were exactly the right distance from his nose and how if you folded him in half he would match perfectly on either side like the covers of your favorite book. And his eyes, so deep and black tonight that she could see herself falling and becoming blissfully lost in their vastness; their warmth called her into their void and how she wanted to answer that call.

Diaval couldn't help but notice how her eyes were the exact shade of crystal blue as a frozen stream, thawing in springtime. It only made sense, as she was the one to warm Maleficent's icy heart, and in effect, his own. Diaval found himself fascinated by the delicate curvature of her lips, two gentle slopes like twin mountains balanced over a low valley. He traced their shape with his eyes and noticed how perfectly they would fit the shape of his.

 _Perhaps,_ he thought, _I should test it._

For the second time that night, he felt a rush of courage.

He leaned over, slowly, slowly so to give her time to refuse, to back away, but she didn't. He came close and hovered before her; his eyes shut, their noses brushed, their breath mingled, and their lips met. Softly, he touched his mouth to hers, chaste, restrained even, for fear of rejection, and of his own self-control. He was terrified of becoming one of the men Maleficent talked about, sweet-talking liars, and animals in every sense of the word. Only, he was an actual animal, at least some of the time. But tonight he thought maybe he could choose not to be.

After the slightest brush of their lips, he felt her return the gesture, lifting her chin to meet his lips again, accepting his invitation. That was all he needed.

He deepened the kiss, wanting to feel her lips as they enveloped his. She returned his fervor, tasting him very unlike a connoisseur and more like a woman on a diet tastes chocolate cake. She took her far hand off the grass and brought it to cup his jaw, feeling the bone as her finger smoothed over his flesh. She hit a scar, terribly ridged, but rather than pull away, she traced it; her finger danced over all the little imperfections that caused him such self loathing, the tiny peaks and valleys, pockets and bumps. They were the marks that made him different, special, and utterly unique.

He shuddered as her gossamer touch fluttered over his skin, tickling the sensitive flesh. He felt as though he must use his hands as well, and so he placed one hand on her waist, now open to touch since she turned to her side. He didn't employ much movement, didn't want to frighten her by seeming too eager, but she clearly did not have the same qualms. He nearly lost himself when she began tracing his scar; he had to break from her lips for a moment to breathe, finding his nose incapable of collecting enough air. He released a hot puff, and in the same moment sucked another in, taking Aurora with it. He kissed her like she was the last drop of drink in a glass, for her lips were like wine, and oh God, how he wanted to get drunk.


	14. The Final Preparations

_The Final Preparations_

Nothing infuriated Ravenna like a plan gone awry. She positively fumed with anger, her shoes leaving scorch marks on the earth in the shape of footprints. The dull, dishwater gray film the kingdom usually wore burned up as Ravenna's presence coated it in alcohol and light it aflame. Even the overcast skies seemed tinged orange in her rage.

She had the coachman whip the horses into a gallop for miles before allowing them to slow, and then only to a trot. When the carriage finally arrived, horses foaming with sweat, she burst through the doors with more strength than her petite body seemed capable of and stormed straight to her mirror room, shouldering any unfortunate servants that happen to stand in her path. Each sharp clack of her heeled shoes sounded like a knife whacking a wooden board. Her pale skin looked less like fresh cream and more like the wood of a matchstick, ready to burn at the slightest twitch of a hand.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall," she chanted, shoving the door to the golden room open. She glared at the bronze dish, not through her eyelashes like she did with bachelor Kings, but through her eyebrows, watching as her chant made the metal liquefy. With her head ducked so low and her shoulders tensed to her ears, she looked like a bull seeing red.

"How do I make a Kingdom fall?"

The bronze slithered like a metallic snake towards her, forming a shimmering, swirling moat around her feet. The liquid then began turning and growing, forming the outline of a man covered by a metal blanket.

"Catch the crow and kill the girl, and the Kingdom shall be yours," a rich bass answered, reverberating off the stone, sounding like the voice of God himself.

"But _how,"_

"Do not overlook what you already know; crows travel in groups, and the one with the best knowledge of the woods is often the huntsman."

Ravenna did not reply. She continued gazing blankly at the shimmering silhouette as she digested his words. The figure began melting again and she didn't stop it; she doubted its riddlesome conscious would have much else to say anyway.

 _Crow's travel in groups…_ Did the mirror mean for her find a flock of crows rather than just the one? Shape shifters couldn't transform into multiple entities, could they? Too, she doubted he would associate with regular fowl, being mentally superior. Perhaps the Mirror was merely alluding to crow's flock mindset, that if she could bring the flock to her, she could probably get the shape shifter to join. _Is that what the Mirror suggested?_ _Bring the entire flock in and search them one-by-one?_ It surely sounded tedious, but it was better than having no crows at all.

The second part of the riddle was easier; the Mirror believes the huntsman should go after Snow White. But the huntsman was no longer; Eric was lost when Stefan entered his body. That's what she suspected at least. But perhaps he left some things behind.

 _I imagine it's impossible to enter into another's body and expect nothing from the previous inhabitant to linger,_ she mused _._ It happens with houses too, and books. The previous owner would forget an old chair in the cellar, or some notes scrawled in the margins of a book. It only made sense that some memories would linger, she thought.

By the time she made up her mind, the bronze puddle had formed itself into a smooth reflective dish once more. Her lips curled into a grin, one of a woman with a devious plan; she turned tail with a flourish, exiting the golden room with less broiling rage and more electric energy than she entered.

Down, down, down the stone staircase. Ravenna snatched a candle from a servant to help her see in the cellar's clammy darkness. The usual torches leading to her potions room lay cold in her absence. No matter, she touched her candle to their tops as she walked by, leaving a trail of fire in her wake as if to say, "I'm home".

At the bottom of the stairs she unlocked her potions room using the iron key she kept tucked between her breasts. Inside she made a beeline to the shelf, rummaging through dusty grimoires until she found the right one, with the scaly green cover. Opening it, she quickly found the spell for summoning crows. She'd used it and a few others involving crows before. It was oddly specific, yes, but only certain animals were important to witches; cats (especially of the black variety), toads, owls, salamandars, bats etc. Furthermore, some witches had an affinity for a certain animal. Ravenna just so happened to have an affinity for crows, though apparently, not the shape-shifting kind.

She snatched a bag of salt and dropped it on the table. Spinning around, she grabbed a fistful of cold coals from the fire and dropped them into a heavy, granite mortar. She skimmed the ingredients again; crushed sage, rose quartz, sugar, sheep's blood, the list went on. It might take her all night, but come morning she would be ready.

She finely ground the coal, quartz, sugar, and salt in her mortar into a fine powder. She scooped it into a large jar and sealed it, leaving it on her table for later. There were a few ingredients she did not have in stock.

Muffled noise leaked from the kitchen door. But once Ravenna entered, the commotion instantly reduced to a murmur. Loud thumping chops turned into whispery slicing, pots and pans were gently placed on the table rather than thrown. Kitchen maids quickly turned away from her, busying themselves out of her sight or pulling strands of hair to cover their faces. They knew all too well what happened to young beauties in Ravenna's kingdom. After they passed from her view, they would glace her way in fear and awe. Many had never seen her in person.

 _So the rumors_ were _true,_ they thought, _she is still young and beautiful, after all these years._ Ravenna ignored them; she was used to stares.

"I want lamb for dinner," she said softly to the cook. There was no need for her to raise her voice. He knew it was not a suggestion.

"We have some imported lamb sausages in the store room," he offered politely, trying to hide the quiver in his voice.

"No, fresh. And save the blood in the cellar. I want black pudding tomorrow."

"As you wish, my Queen."

Ravenna turned to leave, snatching a few dried sage leaves before doing so. She could feel their eyes burning holes in her back. She smiled. She fed on envy and fear. A few steps from the door, she found Stefan fixing to come in and find a snack.

"Ravenna," he said, surprised. She was just the person he wanted to see. And the one he didn't. He needed to speak with her about the letters he'd found, but he still didn't know how to approach it. He couldn't exactly say he'd been snooping around her private study. He looked at the bundle of finger-like leaves in her hands, trying to stall. "What have you got there?"

"Ah, sage," she answered, not thinking of a good enough lie on the spot.

"What for?" her first thought was to respond with "smudging", but she felt like that was about as good of an idea as a wineless wedding.

"Tea" she said, finally thinking of something, "for a headache."

"Do you mind if I join you?" he asked. Discussions were best had over a cup of tea. It relaxed the nerves, and sipping from a cup allowed for a natural break in conversation.

"I actually have some work I really must get back to," she began, thinking of the blackberry juice she needed to begin boiling down into syrup, and then of the birdcage she needed to find for when she finally caught the little shifter. She'd had it a minute ago, where could her servants have stowed it?

"Doesn't that defeat the point of drinking tea for your headache?" he asked with a smile, "Come with me, we'll have tea properly."

He put his hand on her upper back, guiding her to the dining room. Ravenna made to resist, but eventually consented. As it was, she needed to speak with him too.

The two settled into opposing chairs and beckoned for a passing maid to serve them. Stefan recognized her as the dimpled girl whom he breakfasted with during Ravenna's absence. She smiled lightly as she saw him. Ravenna noticed this smiled and furrowed her brows slightly.

Once the tea arrived, along with a dish of assorted biscuits, their conversation resumed. Stefan was oblivious to the fact that Ravenna had slipped the sage into her pocket and not her teacup.

"How was your trip? Did you find any new help to work for you?" he asked politely, taking a sip from his cup. Ravenna scrunched her eyebrows as she gently stirred honey into her own cup. _What was he talking about?_

She paused before remembering, "Oh no, there was no one that met my standards."

"Oh, that's unfortunate," he answered, wondering what standards she had. He took another sip, piecing together the words to ask her about the other man when she cleared her own throat.

"Stefan, I know that you are working towards recovering your kingdom and I have told you to focus entirely on this, but I am afraid that I have fallen onto a certain hardship and must ask for your assistance."

Stefan's eyebrows scrunched together and he returned his cup to its saucer. Ravenna too placed the dainty silver teaspoon on her saucer. Two nights ago when she raged at Finn for losing the King's daughter she told him to find someone who knew the dark forest. Little did she expect to discover that Eric, the man whose body Stefan's soul now resided in, was the answer. She'd told Finn as much, that she'd found the man who would bring back the Princess. He'd scoffed at her then, remarking that there must be _somebody_ else, for Eric was no longer with them; his mind and soul were long gone. Did she _really_ want to call back _another_ soul from The Beyond? Displacing souls was no simple feat, and it came at a high price, he reminded her, not to mention the havoc it would wreak on her own magical reserves. She was already sucking girls dry left and right to make up for her rapidly diminishing power; another large spell would really set her back.

"Of course, anything I can do to repay you for all of your kindness." Stefan replied.

Ravenna looked up at him. He looked so different now than when she first saw his drunken mug standing at her door reporting for grave-robbing duty. She'd sneered then, wondering what pig pen Finn pulled him out of. Not many people volunteer for this type of work though, so she let it pass. He'd probably spent everything he'd had in the pub last night, and was looking for the next night's allowance.

Regardless, something about him stuck out to her, and when the team returned with Stefan's body the next day, she called him, out of all the other men, to stay. Maybe it was his rugged good looks, or his stately build that made her think he looked fit to be a King. Maybe it was his piercing blue eyes that reminded her of Stefan's shining green ones. Maybe she was just intuitive. Regardless, she chose him and, alas, he was now needed. She'd thought they would just have to storm the dark forest with fire and manpower, but now that her mirror recognized the huntsman as the solution to her problems as well, they may be able to fix Finn's error far more easily.

"A prisoner escaped a few days ago," she began, pulling lies out of her pockets like Sunday candy. "She is deranged, having murdered her own father, the former king and my husband, some years ago. Yes, she is a princess but only by blood. I kept her locked in the tower ever since she went mad, not wanting to put to death one of royal blood, but fearing for my own life should she be allowed to roam free. This worked well until recently when my brother let her escape while he was… distracted. She fled through the pipes and escaped into the dark forest where she hides now. Finn has tried for days now to enter the forest and continue his search but each time he was proven unable to breach its borders more than a few feet.

"Stefan, I know that you have not entered the dark forest before, but the previous inhabitant of this body, the Huntsman, was one of the very few known to have regularly entered and withstood its horrors. What I am asking is, can you tap into the pieces left behind by the Huntsman, enough to navigate the Dark Forest and bring the Princess back safely?" Stefan paused, waiting for the voice of the Huntsman to give him advice, to tell him what to do.

"I will send Finn with you of course, and support soldiers," she continued. Stefan lifted his head, making the mistake of gazing into her crystal blue eyes. "By the time you return, we will be ready to make our move on your kingdom."

 _The Princess, a young girl, really scares her that much?_ Asked the voice, its deep baritone strong and clear between his ears. It sounded skeptical, suspicious even of the Queen's plans. _There must be something else._

"What do you want with the Princess, Ravenna?" asked Stefan aloud

Ravenna was taken aback by his question. What right did he have to question her, in her own castle no less? After everything she'd done for him, after everything she put on the line, the people she killed just so he could take his kingdom back from the fairy that stole it from him, he dared question her? Truthfully, she was only helping him get his kingdom so that _she_ could easily snatch it under his nose, but that was neither here nor there. All she asked was for him to retrieve one skinny, weak little girl running scared through the woods. If she weren't so busy _running a country_ , she would do it herself. Something told her that eventually she would have to, but she figured she might as well try her other options first and hope someone got lucky.

She blinked a few times, trying to wash the angered annoyance out of her eyes.

"She is of royal blood Stefan, the last of my husband, God rest his soul's, line! She must be returned home, even if she is a murderous snake."

 _She's lying,_ hissed the voice, angry. Stefan didn't think he should repeat that.

"Of course I will help you find the girl," answered Stefan, reaching across the table to take her hand. "We shall set off tomorrow morning."

"Thank you," answered Ravenna, bringing her other hand around to enclose his. She squeezed once and then released him. She didn't like to linger. "Now, if you excuse me, I really must get back to work."

She pushed out her chair and exited swiftly, her tea, sat on the table in her absence, the handle cold. Stefan gazed at it for a moment, watching the steam curl above it, before taking another sip from his own cup.

 _Tell me,_ he thought, meaning to ask the voice in his head, _how do we plan on finding this girl in the woods?_

He'd never had conversations on purpose with the voice before, but thought he might try now that he'd agreed on a suicide mission into the dark forest. Places didn't get names like that for no reason.

 _We?_ Questioned the voice. Stefan swallowed. Hearing a voice in your head is one thing. Talking back to it is another, but it responding? It was a whole new level of crazy he had never reached before. He narrowed his eyebrows.

 _I am going to need your help with this. Regardless of what Ravenna plans, the Princess will die if we do not save her, no?_ the voice did not respond. He was grumpy. _So, how will we find her?_

 _We will hunt her down like we would any animal,_ the voice answered. _If she is mad as Ravenna suggests, she be easy to find._

Stefan swallowed again, the voice darker and stronger than his tea. He knew they called this man, the one whose body he inhabited "The Huntsman", but the title was starting to take on a different meaning now. He quickly tried to bury his thoughts, turning again to stir his tea, but the Huntsman was always there, he heard everything.

 _I-it's been a while since I've been hunting,_ Stefan answered, feeling as if he should respond somehow.

 _I guess you'll just have to let me take over then._

Late into the night, Ravenna crept down to the kitchen. She really didn't need to creep; she had no need to be secretive here, all the castle workers and all the towns' people knew she was a witch. She supposed it was just in her nature to be sneaky. Besides, she didn't need to stumble on Stefan sleepwalking or coming in for a late night snack. Though he too knew she was a witch, he didn't need the dirty details of her craft. She'd learned through the years that potential suitors don't take kindly to her dancing naked in the woods and smearing blood pentagrams on the floor.

Bathed in the clean, silvery darkness of a nearly full moon and minimal candlelight, Ravenna found the heavy oak door. She swung it open to reveal the dim room, fairly clean and free of people, exactly how she liked it. She walked into the back and opened the pantry. Sitting on the floor next to a box of dirty vegetables, sat a stained wooden bucket filled with a dark liquid. She squatted next to it, dipping a finger in to test its viscosity. Pulling the finger out, the liquid stuck to her pale skin thinly; she held a candle to it and found it was still a bright red, indicating its freshness. She smiled and stuck the finger in her mouth. It was sweet too, underneath its standard metallic taste.

Setting her candle on the flood, she moved to produce the jar from earlier. She twisted the cap to open it and then pulled a small silver cup from her pocket. She dipped the cup into the liquid and poured it into the jar until it was full. Capping the jar tightly, she shook it to combine the powdered ingredients at the bottom. She held the jar down to the candle light, watching as the red liquid became even darker as it swirled with the flecks of charcoal and shimmered as the powdered quartz spun by like fairy dust.

Picking up her candle, the only evidence of her visit, she silently brought the jar up to the room with her great bronze mirror. It was still brightly lit from the moon shining strongly through the many windows, hitting the white marble of her private bath and illuminating the room. It was perfect.

She found a wide basin lying about nearby; originally it was used for holding water for her to rinse with after a milk bath, but now it lay empty in a corner. Milk baths did nothing for her anymore, not since she was told that Snow White held the key to her eternal youth. She brought the basin to the ledge of the bath angling it in a way that the most moonlight would hit it. She then uncapped the jar again and poured its contents into the basin. She watched as the contents oozed out thick but smooth, the flecks of stone occasionally catching the moonlight and sparkling like stars. Once the jar was empty, she shook the basin, allowing the contents to settle and cover the entire surface. The more moonlight it received the stronger the spell would be, and tonight was a cloudless night.

Tomorrow it would be ready. Tomorrow as Stefan rode out to the dark forest to find Snow White and bring back her heart, Ravenna would be drawing symbols in moon-soaked lambs blood, casting a protective salt circle, and chanting in an old language to call forth a legion of crows from miles away. She hoped the shape shifter had a pleasant night, because tomorrow he would be in the talons of the dark Queen Ravenna.


End file.
